burning, and where He was burning also, He, He, my prisoner, that new Being, the new Master, the Horla!
Suddenly the whole roof fell in between the walls, and a volcano of flames darted up to the sky. Through all the windows which opened on to that furnace, I saw the flames darting, and I reflected that He was there, in that kiln, dead.
Dead? Perhaps? His body? Was not his body, which was transparent, indestructible by such means as would kill ours?
If He were not dead? Perhaps time alone has power over that Invisible and Redoubtable Being. Why this transparent, unrecognizable body, this body belonging to a spirit, if it also had to fear ills, infirmities, and premature destruction?
Premature destruction? All human terror springs from that! After man the Horla. After him who can die every day, at any hour, at any moment, by any accident, He came, He who was only to die at his own proper hour and minute, because He had touched the limits of his existence!
No -- no -- there is no doubt about it -- He is not dead. Then -- then -- I suppose I must kill myself!
Tratto da: THE HORLA di Henri René Albert Guy de Maupassant
ops...è il finale. Per leggerlo tutto ecco il link.
Sapreste scegliere tra pazzia e normalità? Nella pazzia c'è il genio e la sregolatezza, nella normalità la comprensione e la razionalità di sensate azioni. Se non potessimo avere un mix e ci trovassimo di fronte ad una scelta?. Solo un pazzo non sa rispondere,