Cette short story a été écrite pour le cours d'anglais de Phyllann en avril 1998.
La première moitié rédigée, elle fut jetée à la poubelle, puis repêchée, et enfin complétée, parce que c'était bien ça que je voulais écrire.
Ca mériterait d'être étoffée, beaucoup de ses idées explicitées. Je pondrai peut être une version en français un peu plus proche de ce que j'imagine, quand j'aurai pris le temps d'avoir envie de l'écrire !
Who knows ? Who knows why he was walking alone in those long corridors that night ? The research center was empty of any life and he passed along the large bay windows of the labs. Only the control light of the high-tech equipment made some red or green points in the darkness. Just like in an airbus cockpit, in Orly, waiting to take off in the night. Where could he fly to ? Nowhere. Another airport, another town, fly across the oceans to be in the same universe. The wonderful plane in which he was that night would take him further than his life. Deeper in his life. He would travel across a universe of complexity and beauty. In this symphony, each molecule plays its role, involved in a multitude of interconnected mechanisms. This wonderful autonomous ballet unfolds perfectly. It was his life, as it was the one of five billion humans. But it was his life because he was involved in sightreading the symphony. Each working day was for him a step forward in imagining a new way of stealing the world. he was one of those who had the privilege to discover Gods'secret.
Thus, conscious of this beauty, he felt more and more at fault to be unable to create a part of beauty in his turn. Not able to dream up his own world, whatever it would be, words or colours. Even not able to carry on the symphony. He was so misanthropic ! What could he do to bring his part to the world, to help it to survive, instead of stealing it for his own profit ? Of course, knowing the symphony better can help to keep people alive, but it was not enough, especially with his mediocrity. His body was young and in good condition. He could give it... and forget his brain forever. He had now to find out the mean of killing his brain without damaging the rest of his body. He should wait the morning to come, so that his organs had not the time to die until he would be found.
He went on the roof. Thirty meters below him, the ground seemed to be hard enough. He spent the night here. As the morning came and the town woke up, he strode over the ballustrade, began to shake all over, and ran downstairs in his lab. He was already working when his colleagues arrived. Who knew ? Who cares ?