No one ever asks the right questions.

Trouvez-moi

[This is something I wrote for French class. We were supposed to write a story with over 100 words, and I had a lot of trouble even staying close to 100. But I have it up here because I don’t usually write short stories, and the idea behind this one is getting me thinking about something that could be bigger. The French first, then the English translation.]

C’était froid et sombre. Le matin était loin. Sa voix était un chuchotement et j’ai seulement entendu la voix.

“Trouvez-moi.”

Je connais cette voix. Je l’avais entendu beaucoup. Mais c’est impossible. Mon amour est mort, il ne peut pas parler!

J’entendais toujours sa voix. Quelquefois j’ai pensé que j’étais fou. Je ne pouvais pas nier que quelqu’un me parlait, mais sont-il mon amour ?

J’étais là. J’ai vu qu’il est mort. Son coeur s’était arrêté. Les docteurs ont été d’accord. Il est parti. Je suis allé à le obsèques. Je l’ai vu dans la cassette. Je l’ai vu mort et ensuite j’ai commencé à entendre sa voix.

Ce bruit constant était irritant et persistant. Cette nuit, quand je suis couché dans mon lit, j’ai entendu sa voix. Il n’avait rien dans l’obscurité, mais tout de même je l’ai entendu. “Être calme!” J’ai dit, mais il ne s’est pas arrêté. C’est devenu plus fort.

“Je vous aime. Vous ne comprenez pas? S’il vous plaît, venez et trouvez-moi, mon amour, trouvez-moi …”

“Parti!” J’ai hurlé.

“Vous ne m’aimez pas ? S’il vous plaît, venez me trouvent …”

“Je ne vous aime pas.” J’ai dit tranquillement. “Partez maintenant!”

Et c’était la fin des voix. Est-ce qu’il était vivant? Je ne sais pas. Parfois je pense que je le vois. Parfois je pense que je l’entends. Chaque fois, je me rappelle toujours la nuit que je lui ai dite que je ne l’ai pas aimé et pense.

 

It was cold and dark. Morning was far away. His voice was a whisper, and I was the only one who heard it.

“Find me.”

I know this voice. I heart it many times. But it’s impossible. My love is dead, he can’t talk to me!

I still heard his voice. Sometimes I thought I was crazy. I couldn’t deny that someone was speaking to me, but how could it be my love?

I was there. I saw him die. His heart had stopped. The doctors agreed. He was gone. I went to his funeral. I saw him in the casket. I saw him dead, and then I began to hear his voice.

This constant noise was irritating and persistent. This night, when I’m lying in my bed, I heard his voice. There was nothing in the darkness, but still I heard it. “Be quiet!” I said, but it didn’t stop. It got louder.

“I love you. Don’t you understand? Please, come and find me, my love, find me…”

“Leave me alone!” I yelled.

“Don’t you love me? Please, come find me…”

“I don’t love you.” I said quietly. “Now go away!”

And that was the end of the voices. Was he alive? I don’t know. Sometimes I think I see him. Sometimes I think I hear him. Each time, I always remember the night I told him I didn’t love him and think.

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