Meteorite

What if one day a meteorite were to crash unto l'Etat-D'ame ? For it is such a small island spinning in the void in spiralling crescendo and decrescendo, it could well be sent off course by the slightest hit from spacial dust....already the winds and frequent raging seas threaten its sheer existence... Josephine hold on to a very thin lifeline there. She should just go, build a raft, defy the ocean and sail to whatever harbour there is beyond the horizon. The problem though, is that it's all rhetoric and mere superstition. Because for now, strictly nothing is happening and the lull of comfort is too sweet to be abandonned...To be continued. Or not.

Prisoner.

Josephine sits alone in the big blue wooden house. Alone among the antique furnitures, an outmoded but charming decors. There was maybe, at some point in the past a large family leaving here. Or a lonely refined ancestor. Who knows. Now remains only Josephine, among the grand, desolate but lovely house. Wistful she stares in the distance. The sky is grey. The sea is grey. The day is sad. Her mood is sad. When will she leave ? How ? Trapped on her beautiful but desert island, her life is often a prison, a scealed bubble. Eternity is unfathomable and weight heavily on her soul. To die and to live again ! Should she build a raft and challenge the waves ? Defy the circle of the ocean and rejoin the world of the living ? So much efforts... She does not believe she could ever muster the will. Oh that longing, yes... Die Sehnsucht... Aber der Will nein. So, idle, thoughtful, passive, she sits and wait. And wishes. And prays. But hopes not.

Le cimetiere des idoles

It's early morning and Josephine walks in large strides accross the country on the island. Going across fields, forests and waste lands, the only noises are the crunching of the dry autumn leaves under her steps. Birds chirp sometimes in the distance and you can perceive the faint rush of the ocean all around. After hours of such intense hiking, Josephine arrives at the Cemetery of Idols, tired of limbs but clear of spirit. The place is a forlorn area, where lies in chaos the broken statues of past idols. Some made of glass or marble, one or two of gold. Some of plain earth. Or of salt gathered from tears. All broken and in pieces, as it should be. Nobody wants to see the Idols standing again. Ruling over your heart and life. The cemetery of idols is a good place to visit.