The Roman sun burns my eyes. The clock moves forward so fast that the fear gets through my skin and transforms me little by little into another person. At high noon, somebody else will come, from a territory I do not know, from memories and dust. You will recognize him, because he is similar to us, he is the sum of our desires, to conquer a ground which is not ours. He looks like us but he is present and absent at the same time, probably already dead, fallen between tall grass.

Break. The movie stops. If we could go backwards, correct our errors, those we pay for our entire lifetime, then I would push the arrow the other way around until it cuts my fingers. I realize that my thoughts are the accumulation of several antagonist characters, coming from various times. And the person whom I am, is she real or only a construction, one wooden set ready to fall?

Abruptly, I turn around to look behind, to see if he really exists, if he still waits for me under the vertical light. The artist and the actor shoot each other, narrowly escape, they get lost outside of their own territory. And as the wind blows and dries out the grass, as a mirage, my body disappears, erased by the sun. At high noon, I will be replaced by another.