Please, can you make this available to outside readers as well? This section seems only for us, registered users.
Third part, the longest one3Extinction, now independent of the palm, threatened the extreme glare of the zenith. Effulgence in its paroxysm was abolishing the quality of things, diluted in the primordial tarnish, achieving the cycle of despotism, knotted to void. Presumptuousness cost. Destitution imperceptibly crackled those bones of reality, without color, without reflection, in ankylosis. For around, in the petrified forms of indetermination, in the flattened, empty air, in the desertic muteness of streets converging toward evanescence, windows, bitumen cristals, lacquers of panels with aphasic signs, suspended smokes were divested matt.
Silence and the stream were uttering to the hearing lopped off.
Beyond, the brambles. Venimous interlacing, suspended between trunks and branches, rapacious plains, inextricable mounts imprinted on the near deliverance a topography of asperity.
Stoically, she bore, teeth gritting, their claws and fangs immature, that appeared to savour pearls of her blood. There at last, ballast no less rough holding the sleepers, four metallic lines were leading. Further away, erratically built shacks and wheatfields under the assimilating sun. The tarnish golden dulled the horizon.
The wear hoarsened under her steps crushed stones.
Nearby, austerity of the perron broke on the right the dark excrescences of blackberries yet frigid buds. Beyond the rails, its double was excrescence itself; degarnished and incomprehensible, the meadows forever uncultivated had annexed it to the countryside, while the citerior, reinforced by railway blades, as a last urban bastion was prevailing against weeds’ seasonal siege. Bag on the chipped edge, hauling herself on the platform, in her hands, polished, pebbles imbedded.
The slabs ancient were shining. At the far end, on the left of the stretched, manifestly neglected rectangle, at the stairs after which emerged the atonic monoliths of the city in dormition, the ticket booth curtains, as if left for a moment fixed to the weary blur, stayed invariably shut. Behind the glass of both counters, a vase, an account book dusty and fade. On the benches facing her, against a low wall, the pale paint was peeling; through the awning half-collapsed and holed light invaded the shelter, aborting any struggle.
None.
Nevertheless, slowly having approached, she put the bag on the seat, that grated already her shoulder. Her legs pulsated from the insidious cuts and scrapes, knees even under the jeans kept the print of the stones touched when climbing up. Nothing ceded of the elements: only she.
Water carried softly—soil and its children wounded.
At first, she brushed as in a rough crevasse rows of thorny stems, where Floriane’s image, remanence firm, circulated. Despite all the chlorine poured in, throve in pools chimaeras, and each attempted to hook. Hers had followed her outside. Yet, nonchalance being coupled with the new school term ominously materializing, Floriane’s physical absence famished love. The stems little by little were losing their leaves, sap drained, and the petals, sensual and full once, wrinckled then, prostrated, like a child so unconcerned, protectorless, sitting in a corner, decays, face hidden, evaporates; finally, fossilized, they detached listlessly. However her distantiation had already begun and, while suffering from the ineluctable ruin, she gazed herself with curiosity. The agonizing affection and depletion of desire—that very desire at least—instructed...
Because they inhabited close districts, she had crossed paths with her several times since. Neither approached the other, not even an expressive glance. Floriane appeared doleful. Rumor told that eventually she defeated herself, obtuse to that hits taken were those dealt. Condemned to might and to relationships transitory, she found herself trapped when she catched herself endeavouring to build, not adulterate. But nothing could be built.
Alike they are to some extent, thus; anyhow, all was programmed so that from collisions would escape solely losers: characters scarred, hearts dissonant, ordurous.
She understood later—Floriane had been but a receptacle for the majesty of the barren sun; triumphing with its providential aid, and bereft against her own power when she had to take initiative. The carnal hold’s ardour, renewed, cyclic, confirmed the illusion. Yesterday Floriane. Today Camille. Tomorrow who?..
Strolling with effort along the platform—sitting down meant surrender,—with the tip of her used tennis shoe, now heavy on the foot, she thrust a stone onto the ticket booth door. Produced vibration did modify neither atmosphere’s thickness nor deviated the train of thoughts this time.
She noticed Camille at the beginning of the year, in a bus where she did not reappear. In the simple outfit’s, laconic makeup’s refinement, she exhaled something severe, dense, reassuring also: as if she knew at any time her whereabouts, as if she integrated moral values a constant, able to measure them and reveal to whomever. The impression seemed fleeting—among the thousands other bittersweet flavours of chance,—but attenuating and inked out by routine, paradoxically, rooted in. She gained afterwards a recurring opportunity, a destiny’s invitation to more, again and again refused, to observe her at the university refectory conversing calmly, somewhat timidly, sternly, laughing with friends, brushing her companion with looks flame-brooding. But she did not acquaint.
Afterwards, syncopating the transition with the preparation for the exams, now numb and desperate, now febrile, with the anguish of beasts driven to slaughter, with the exams themselves, whelms of stress, came the second semester. She haunted her own house henceforth; winter carpeted with lead of its clouds the surfaces; snow at crepuscles fell cadaveric. By day, dreams lay frozen behind factories’ broken panes; smoke ceaselessly fed the dunes ashen. And when at last starred blue appeared through, it quickly veered to black, and snow started again. The sun then feigned benevolence. Although the heating in lecture halls malfunctioned, she had obtained a common class with Camille; and for some time the deception was.
As memories were slipping toward the present, so the perron was to end, compelling her to either confront anew the wilderness outside places ritualized, or continue her pacing back, subdued and enclosed in the model; and each branch of the alternative wanted a sacrifice. She slowed her gait already torpid; the rays were obfuscating her limbs.
But then, the well of human contact was inebriating her, in beholding iridescence in its depth, in sensing freshness rise. Zealously taking notes, with titles on the copybook underlined without a drip by the regulated succession of multicolour, stopping at intervals, checking time on the wrist-watch laid—the 3 on top—ahead, distracting the too grave on the high barred windows, musing then drawing floral motifs at the margins with her quadruple ballpoint pen with pastel dyes, weary, interested or preoccupied, all emotions were read on Camille—only without the causes. And in leaving she saw her feel her pockets mechanically, in search of a lighter, absent, and slightly lean towards groups of smokers, like a heliotrope; and no cigarette had touched her lips. Without the causes, Camille would remain forever changing, the figure kneaded by an amalgam of deductions, intuitions, memories, associations would certainly come animate, but oneiric, on the point of dissipating. Yet, she knew necessary that a double accompany each being and, one destroyed or obsolete, another forthwith replace it, hybrid between the emaciated shadow of the preceding one and the insights solid twisted, dismantled by the receiver’s perception; chimaera from a chimaera. Solid? Already imagining talking to her, discovering her in a thousand scenarios weaved on the routine slimmest disturbances, new attributes competed to incorporate Camille’s effigy... The situations themselves reactivated some while occulting others from the panoply of evanescences; they occulted mainly the referent.
Contemporary to vernal flowers, the well of human contact was inebriating.
Thus they were living, one observing the other, manufacturing the other, without reciprocation and without challenge to order. Ominously, at a distance, the end loomed. Insinuated themselves again obsession with the exams, cyclothymia, the evenings—the perjurous evenings that lingered. The brilliance increased, and the malaise: onto wide panes battered the splendour by which flustered the desks a long while exhaled the embers; alleys, parks, esplanades made their mysteries recoil, offering but rebirth’s sardonic triumph. To stay among the haughty initiates’ cohort, to squat the antechamber of life became painful; the balance avowed itself unnatural. Yawned, voracious, the immense chasm of the summer.
The perron ended there. She passed her hand over her face. For lack of anything better, wiped it on her jeans.
Where were her sisters of unconcern now? Where was Anne, the galliard, the joyful, the generous, frankness and fidelity, Anne? How was she managing these seas of fossil brambles? Here, habitual advisers professed only from the height of their own mistakes, expired, whence circumstances had drained any education. Consciousnesses remained staunch.
Nothing answered, except—echoes of the tension between the self in patchwork and the ether ignite—din in her ears and a migrain’s caress.
That were objectified. She turned around.
The train was arriving.
Longer than the platform, although not differently empty, it had, at least, a color and a speed that promised to breach desorientation. However, dark green, as should have been the rigid leaves on the brambles, and advancing as a glass little by little from water frozen crackles, it seemed also of roughness, seemed the mecanic jurisdiction of the same domain, carceral, and not anyhow a saviour.
Resigned, she went to pick up her things, while the carriage was parking with a clashing rumble. Another quality of which the bleak surrounding had been dispossessed.
The polyester flank burned her hip through the jeans, the strap her shoulder. Burden—of clothes, of the bag, of herself, of past and future compressed into cycles infecund in her head—was bringing her back to the ground, to lie sipped by air and freted by their abrasives. The field of view catched but the opening ahead, regularly defocalized by eardrums painful pulsation. She moved barely.
Nonetheless, the station turned out to be shorter than appeared. She passed exhaling.
Stopped for a moment on the vehicle threshold, aware vaguely of having overcome a milestone, were it even nowhence elsewhither, or only between compartments of nowhere, she turned around, to celebrate her little victory with a posture of defiance to deliquescent reality, hanging onto the bar near the door for fear of swooning, towards the culprit.
Now, near the maleficent disk’s centre a black smudge absorbed a part of the rays, deforming the halo. The sun, as predicted, necrosed, engulfing with itself its world of thorns.
Doors screeched in closing.
Some visuals (none color-corrected, I was able to obtain it only by placement):
Tarnish
There at last, ballast no less rough holding the sleepers, a dozen metallic lines were leading. Further away, erratically built shacks and wheatfields under the assimilating sun. The tarnish golden dulled the horizon.
Beyond the rails, its double was excrescence itself; degarnished and incomprehensible, the meadows forever uncultivated had annexed it to the countryside, while the citerior, reinforced by railway blades, as a last urban bastion was prevailing against weeds’ seasonal siege.
Effulgence in its paroxysm was abolishing the quality of things, diluted in the primordial tarnish, achieving the cycle of despotism, knotted to void. The sun, as predicted, necrosed, engulfing with itself its world of thorns.
)
This sounds like an atmospheric build-up to what comes next. I am looking forward to seeing the next scene. 
). Continue posting and writing there, folks. 
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. As for the music, I began to write this with "Sunless" from the NdP soundtrack in mind (
