With the first day of December starts the traditional advent calendar. This year, I've decided to make one of my own. A short story written over 25 days.

​Une nouvelle écrite en 2007, et retravaillée en 2021. Toute ressemblance avec une situation récente serait donc purement fortuite.

Mais il est certain que cette situation m'a poussée à retourner sur cette nouvelle, que je voyais soudain sous un nouveau jour. Je n'ai cependant pas retravaillé le fond à la lueur de la pandémie, uniquement la forme.

Et donc la voici.

“The Monarchs are late.”

All the conversations around the table suddenly stopped. Fifteen pairs of eyes turned, like one of those perfectly synchronized flocks of birds, staring at my great-grand-mother. Nobody had heard my Bila's voice in almost three years. Since her beloved husband had died. We all thought her mind had left with him, her shell patiently waiting for the end.