I will no longer see life as I did before. All these images continually passing before my eyes. We are the spectators of a film in which we all play the starring role. We know this perfectly well, yet we all act as if it was nothing. Every time we catch sight of ourselves in a mirror, the rear-view mirror in the car, a shop window or even a puddle of water, we remember that here and now, the film is running. A life lived on screen, our continuous quarter-hour of fame. Everything happens before our eyes. With no interruptions. With that strange feeling of having already lived through some situations. A world where everything is written in advance, a scenario programmed without our knowledge, a preconceived destiny.
This morning, a tiny detail gave me a sign. In front of the mirror, I bore the irritable expression of someone who had found it hard to wake up. With my toothbrush on the go, I looked at myself as I asked myself a whole load of existential questions, about the point of pre-programmed life, having a job, debts, a family, responsibilities, opinions. Why was I thinking about all that? When I spat in the washbasin, something inexplicable happened: as I raised my head, my image was out of sync with my gestures. There was a slight delay of several tenths of a second. I immediately thought of some type of temporary hallucination because of the early hour and the irritability which (in my case) goes with it. But after several attempts, making myself look like an animal frightened of its own reflection, the strangeness persisted. How could it be possible for your image to precede you? Yet the phenomenon was visible and palpable.
I have the impression that I have already had these moments of questioning, these flashes, not really knowing how to tell dream from reality, the past from the present. All these thoughts make... my head spin... I don’t feel... well... I think... I...
Shortly afterwards, two men in dark suits entered the apartment discreetly. They went up to the body lying on the tiled floor of the bathroom. “We are on site as arranged. What do we have to do?” one them asked out loud as he opened his briefcase. “You must give him an A 72 injection of the Servitude protocol to encode his memory,” replied a female voice in his earpiece. Then after a brief silence she added, “The subject has already had this conscience awakening last month, we cannot afford to make any mistakes. I will inform the Propaganda cell that similar cases have happened. We must do everything we can to avoid Conflagration.”