*** If the title wasn’t enough of a clue, here is your last chance to leave this entry. *** “Told you that wasn’t a good idea.” Abdelhak’s wild-eyes goggle in pain. His chest heaves with difficulty. He has to search deep down inside in order to speak. “Of my faults, I have no regrets. Of my joys, no merits. History will only have the years of my memory, and Eternity the falseness of my sleep.” I take a look at him. In spite of some his guts being out in the open, he bears the same smug expression. “Damn, Sid Ali was a Big Brain, a true poet,” he gurgles. “Can’t believe how unpredictable people are. I thought he was a dumbass, some kind of coward, but at the moment of truth, he found a courage from only Allah knows where.” He nods towards me. “You remember? He refused to kneel. He didn’t even shiver when I put my gun on his temple. [i]Go on[/i], he said,[i] I’m ready. You can profane this body, but not this mind[/i]. His head burst like a giant boil. It didn’t alter his fucking smile.” He gurgles again. “You remember?” I don’t, I wasn’t there. But I didn’t forget. How can you when you spend your days twisting your memory, and your nights bringing it back together again? Like a cursed puzzle, blurring it again and again, as soon as it’s dawn… Every day. Every night. Non-stop… We call that [i]obsession[/i], and we think the word is enough to prevail over the abyss. What do we really know about [i]obsession[/i]? I’ve killed my first man three months ago, Tuesday January 23rd at 6:50. It was a magistrate. I can clearly remember these details, but his face has long melted with the others, only leaving the vague feeling that I’ve lost myself this day, tumbling over, body and soul, in a parallel world from where I will never come back. I think I believed at some point this was the worst I could live, that taking another human’s life was the lowest I could ever find myself. I discovered later that it was getting accustomed to do it that was the lowest. Abdelhak coughs. A searing spasm brings him even lower. He grasps his grisp, stretching his legs with a whimper. “Do you think they’ll remember us?” he asks. “Shut up and keep you strength.” “Right, we have a long way ahead.” I don’t know if he’s ironic or realistic. I don’t really care at this point. Outside, a screaming voice orders that we surrender. Apparently, that’s our last warning. It’s not like we could do much. My leg is in pieces, and Abdel won’t go anywhere. There is no way out, and it’s better like that. The realisation hits me, but somehow I’m relieved. I notice Abdelhak doesn’t feel the same. He points his gun towards his face. His smile stretches, grotesque and pathetic at the same time. I watch him like in a dream, not even trying to stop him. “I go ahead,” he says. “You never know...” The gunshot explodes inside the rathole where we are hiding, the first note of a concert that soon follows outside. There isn’t any missing musician; the entire orchestra is here, and their music echo through the streets of a town unfortunately too familiar with this kind of performances. I’ll never see the finale.