Extract of "Pire Ailleurs"

It's the end of summer, finally. Another summer to forget, to be erased from my memory, just like the others. Another destructive summer, a summer where free children play and laugh, a summer where the grown-ups rest, a summer where I suffer. An unspeakable, ineffable, cruel and insidious suffering. I don't remember exactly the summer of the gap year, when everything changed, when the beautiful months became for me, a season of horror. There was a kind of spiral, as if each summer had to be worse, even crueler than the one before. It happened crescendo, and I could never do anything about it, never be able to prevent anything, I had to live these moments and understand them. In summer now, I would like to be able to hibernate, even if it is not the season for it, to hide or bury myself, to disappear and be reborn when the trees change color and lose their leaves. It is this season that now marks my difference from the other living beings. When they look forward to it, I dread it, when they dream about it, I have nightmares about it, when they have fun and relax, I tense up, scream, hit, kill and cry.
From now on, the same scenario is repeated each time and in the same order, anxieties, fear, envy, death, deliverance and rest. Then, it's a cycle that starts again, ten months of relative tranquility, where the beast in me comes back, in hibernation, satiated. She finally lets me breathe, no longer makes my limbs tremble, and I become an ordinary man again, perhaps too ordinary for her taste and mine.
I like this newfound calm. The beast, now full and sleeping inside me, erases from my memory the stigmata of summers. But she and they will be back next summer, it's been written for a long time, it's invariable, I know, and I have to expect it, it's immutable, like a satanic ritual. I don't have to do anything, I can't do anything to change this, only wait for another summer, only wait for the last summer. It is slow to come and this increases the horror, the list. Fortunately the beast acts on my memory like a black hole. It's only during the summer that she puts all the elements, all the events back in their places in my head, that everything comes back to me with clarity, with clarity. Calmly, everything fits back into my skull, I remember. At first I refuse to believe it, then everything becomes plausible, from sleeping I go to awake, then to very awake. The taste and desire of the other, also returns.

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