Memories Never Dies

Épisode 2

Chapiter 1

The tall, dark stone walls rising into the twilight, and the uneven, old-fashioned stones paving the ground, bring to mind one of those streets you often find in the old villages of southern France. It's a cozy, nostalgic spot that could almost have its place in an art gallery for its authentic character and charm.

The alley is pretty tight, and it connects with a wider street further ahead. On the right-hand side, a trellis is swallowed up by the shadows. On the opposite side, a fancy house has a carved wooden door at the top of its front steps.

Looking up, we can see two windows on the second floor. Those are the windows to my bedroom. Because here, this is my home...

All of a sudden, the charm is shattered! I jerk awake, completely disoriented, my heart hammering in my chest, my head pulsating with an urgent pressure that echoes in my ears. As I lie there in bed, my eyes frantically scanning the darkness, one thought dominates my mind:

Where am I?

I don't know, I'm not sure at all! I search my memory and see that alleyway, that house... Me, Rosabella, standing in front of the windows of that room, MY room... The problem is that this place isn't where I am right now. No, because as I slowly regain my senses, I realize I'm in another room...and strangely, this room is also my room!? Surprised by this shocking revelation, I try to piece together my thoughts. Was it a dream? It certainly seems that way. Yet, that's not what I'm feeling right now. This place, where I appeared to have a potentially palpable life, was surprisingly realistic. Even though I couldn't discern any colors, just shades of gray, the image was more real than life itself. Just like this unquestionably concrete perception of the material elements that surrounded me. But the most surprising thing is this strange feeling of no longer knowing exactly who I am, nor where the line lies between truth and falsehood, all accentuated by a sense of familiarity common to both worlds: the one here and the one I just returned from.

This is totally crazy! It's as if two universes or two lives were juxtaposed. And we can agree that it's impossible !

Struggling to emerge, I summon all my mental strength to break free from my lethargy. Because, if this is truly a dream, it's out of the question that I forget it.

I reach for the bedside lamp and flip the switch. Suddenly, a bright light hits my eyes and makes me blink. Still sleepy, I close my eyes again.

When I slowly open my left eye, then my right, the comforting room in the south of France where I'm lying down brings me back to the present. The present of this almost 22-year-old woman who lives here in Saintes-Dames, with her half-sister Luna and her grandmother Nonna, in a house that, even if it's a bit old, has absolutely nothing in common with the mansion from my last dream.

So why, now that I remember who I am and where I live, does the effect of my bizarre experience persist? It's not the first time I've had strange dreams. But it's true that they're rarely this intense. No, never, in fact. It's frightening to be so disconnected from reality. To feel like a stranger in my own body and my own house. An experience so bizarre that it stirs within me an inexplicable interest. An irrepressible need to find an explanation.

Continuing to search for logic in all of this, I now wonder about the possible origin of this curious journey. Could it have been a purely whimsical invention of my subconscious? I doubt it. The feeling of reality was too intense to be imaginary! A memory, then? Not that either. Setting aside the fact that I've always lived here, the place seemed far too old to belong to my past. Perhaps it's a place I could have visited in my childhood, during a field trip, or a city I might have seen in a TV series? Still no!

No matter how much I rack my brains to find a coherent answer, I just can't manage it! And it's out of the question to imagine anything unbelievable on this subject. My Cartesian mind won't allow it. Even though, deep down, I admit that I have the conviction, like a true intuition, that this residence is not just any ordinary house and deserves that I take a closer interest in it someday, if only to give it some meaning.

Before the guardians of rationality erase all traces of fancy, I grab my charcoal pencil and sketchbook on the bedside table, and begin to outline the house from the alley.

Finally, I write down the date: March 8th!