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jeudi 8 décembre 2016
The witness part 1
"Although ill-gotten never profit", French proverb.
alias Jean Larochelle, will learn at against his will. When he becomes an
eyewitness of a violent crime of passion, Tijan is far from suspecting that the
price of silence that the murderer is actually proposes a pact with the devil.
Swung with full force in a world that is not his, he took advantage as he can
of the reality that is more like a mirage in his life vanupieds. However, he
will understand soon enough that he is not master of his destiny and this
idyllic happiness sparkled before his disbelieving eyes is ephemeral.
.S: This story is a horror fiction, whether the character or narrator. It's my
way to tell my new literary. I find that thus enhances its charm suspense to
make it last. Good reading!
Cabri: male of a domestic goat.
Hougan: voodoo priest who offers his services through money
or property by calling mystics.
Morne Calvaire: first a bleak, it houses the middle-class
neighborhood in the hills overlooking Port-au-Prince, Haiti's capital.
Petion-Ville town in Port-au-Prince, metropolis combining
the business districts, considered a very commercial city.
Port-au-princienne: adjective derived from the district of
Port-au-Prince, capital of Haiti in the Caribbean.
me tell you a story, an unlikely story that is unlike fairytales and tales of
the Arabian Nights. It's a story that my grandparents used to tell me to do my
education as they said. This idea came after I complained of the hard work that
I had to do to become somebody in this piece of land, qualified once the pearl
of the Antilles, which had become any piece of land on the map. In fact, I
argued that people who were cheap shots to become the masters of the world were
arriving by all means to their ends at the expense of low mass. My ancestors
responded even though some people were taking bad shortcuts in life, they end
up paying the consequences sooner or later. This story impressed me to the
point of making a new literary I enhanced my imagination.
crossed blankly at the dark and gloomy woods in the skid row near the deserted
square of the Bicentenaire he was lying
all the time. It had to be almost midnight. He couldn’t know, he had no way to
know what the weather was or what time it was. The breeze of the late evening
of December whistling in his ears, freezing his toes as his old worn in boots
with holes in various places not protected. Thin hands buried in his pockets
pierced his multicolored pants because it was patched with mismatched fabric
scraps, he walked without any specific purpose. It wasn’t the first time he was
wandering in the dark with the only company nocturnal birds, stray dogs and
malicious shadows. It was thus from birth. Fatherless and motherless, he grew
up in Port-au-Prince and was raised by his grandmother frustrated and
embittered against life; he had known anything but happiness. To achieve this
he had tried everything: God, that was said, who lived in the heavens, the
hougan or voodoo priest out of ideas and spells had driven from his peristyle*,
rob a bank in the capital but he found himself in prison for sixteen months.
Nothing was it so far no help. How long he was leading this miserable life? By
the way, how old was he exactly? Nobody knew, not even himself elsewhere. He
had no roots, no notarized birth nor archive extracts. It did not exist for
anyone. No one noticed it: not even the stray dogs that devoured some dried
bones gnawed at the crossing and then went on their way without pitfalls, or
those people who gesticulated feverishly in conversation who faced the brunt
and were advancing without care about him. You understand why I insisted that
he did not exist? However, that night, the atmosphere and surrounding scenery
were different from other nights. The silver and pearly round moon lit his way,
shining tree leaves and wearing a crown of stars. Tijan has not hurried on.
Nobody was waiting and he was homeless. He took his time to admire this
magnificent spectacle offered him the kind he had not the chance to see every
night. Daytime life seemed to extend, taking advantage also of this unexpected
gift of the capricious nature. Suddenly, a shrill cry rang in the wooded
breaking thereby the magic of this night that was meant memorable. The sound
was repeated several times, but was in the amplitude and he died; it was a
female voice horrified transformed by pain or horror, or both, in a hunted
animal cry. Without knowing where he was going, Tijan ran towards the direction
of the screams. In his frantic race, he lost what remained of his boots and he
did not even feel the sharp stones that cut the soles of his feet in the
process. Arrived near the place, the sight that met his eyes took her breath
away. An imposing black man with square jaws and an athletic build was standing
by the trunk of a tree uprooted half, a bloody human heart tightly in his left
hand and a blackened dagger in the other hand. A sly smile hovering on his lips
that revealed white teeth that contrasted with the darkness of his skin ebony.
The body of a woman lying at his feet in a pool of blood that began to freeze
and cut off a smell of raw flesh, especially as the chest of the dead body was
visibly open to the navel. Dazed and frightened, Tijan tried to run away but
fear magnified by the horror of the situation paralyzed his four limbs, his
feet refused to obey his orders. He was suddenly shaken by nervous tremors that
unexpectedly drew the eyes of the murderer to his direction. Head full of these
images of horror and the stomach back up into a ball in his chest where his
heart threatened to stop beating fault to go faster, he took her to his heels
to blend into the dark green of the woods . Just a few meters crossed, he felt
a heavy weight fall on him, knocking him by blocking his legs. He could barely
breathe for the man with incredible ease had pressed against the earth floor to
keep firmly immobile. Without finding any resistance, he brought him to the
crime scene. When he returned Tijan towards him, the man had the hard look,
frowning and seemed to be very upset. With a simple movement of the forearm, he
managed to stand up in the grabbing by the collar of his dirty shirt. Despite
his squeals and tears, he does not spare.
-What are you doing here? Barked there.
Getting no response. He
hammered his question in Creole. Tijan opened his mouth to answer but no sound
came out. The man shook him like a mango tree which he would drop his mangoes.
It was with great difficulty that the young man tried not to vomit. Two long
minutes passed during which the assassin with his scrutinizing gaze sharp as if
trying to fathom his soul.
-I Came back ... at ... home, he stammered finally in the
The answer did not seem to
satisfy his partner who tightened his grip. He always laughed in Creole:
-A Glance is enough to understand that you're someone who
has to sleep under the stars. You have no home.
Tijan, caught off
guard, lowered his eyes sheepishly.
-Since you saw the scene, you are automatically become my
horrified look, the man continues:
-In This context, it seems right to me that you know the
whole story. You see this woman? He asked, pointing to the bloodied body in a
pool of black blood now. It was my mistress: a beautiful woman I admit but her
tongue was too pendulous. You seem surprised when I speak of her as a mistress.
I marriedhomeless boy; I could not
afford to let it affect my marriage, especially not with my social position.
But you knows, a woman like that is insatiable and is not content with words of
love, hugs or money. With it, one does not know where to turn. Even God will
listen to you more then the other side is chosen. Then it happened what had to
happen: I made a pact with the darkness and to seal it, I had to make a human
sacrifice. She paid the price.
He took a break
and seemed to reflect sometinmes very important. Tijan, red and bulging eyes,
still shaking like a leaf. The man replied, putting his knife to her throat:
-You're embarrassing element because you witnessed the
scene. I cannot change my plan by killing you. Here, he added a few minutes
later, handing him a huge bunch of keys. These are the keys to my house in
Morne Calvaire * in the valleys after Petionville. You'll find everything you
have always dreamed. The half of my fortune is found there. Don’t worry because
you're not ready to see me again. Enjoy it largely because everything is
fleeting, my friend,
With that, he released him and
then rushed into the woods with the mutilated body he had been careful to wrap
it in a tarp.