Boualem Bradaia

Always plus, Algeriana Boualem Bradaia

The sky had moved away at least ten meters. I remained seated, in no rush. The shock must have broken the stones, my right hand groped on the scree. As I breathed, the silence softened the explosion of stars whose fallout still crackled in my head. The white edges of the stones lightly lit the darkness: my hand left the ground, passed over my left arm, went up to the shoulder, went down through ribs to the pelvis: nothing. I was untouched, I could continue.