TE23 Double Feature

The Forests

Sandrine Collette

another’s. The one who enveloped, reassured, faced up, even though he was dying of fear and cold and fatigue, the one others counted on, and who counted the hours until evening, and the days until death, when it would be time to stop, when there would be rest, at last, and he could forget that he had to lie and be strong and tall and tireless. He would be all of that—just had to take it in, and get used to it . He would, he had come back for that. He would find his momentum. He would overcome his conviction that no amount of reasoning or urgency could surmount the unbelievable weakness that had him in its grip.

Every new moment of awareness hurt; he tried to crush them, one after the other. To live in this world required unconsciousness, required madness. He thrust his face into his hands, hunting through the darkness and oblivion.

It could have gone on like that for years.

But he was on his feet.

It could have gone on for years, but it didn’t.

It was faster than that. It was terrible.

Because there was a cry.

Not a cry: a scream.

Human—scarcely.

Corentin stood up—but it took him all this time.

But what else could it be besides human.

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