I can no longer walk.
I fall on the dry earth near the last 404 I reached.
The cable sticking out from a corner: I won’t know where it leads.

They were right
- we'll never get out of here -
and believing I could contradict them was the fiction that made me walk every metre up to here.

There is no exit from this place, perhaps not even an entrance. Perhaps I found myself here, overnight, without a clear reason or explanation.

My vision gradually becomes blurred, and the bright cables become dull spots in the middle of nowhere. I see shadows passing in front of them, changing their shape and consistency, as I let myself go.
Trying not to fall asleep, I clutch the cable that brought me here, pull it over me and cling to it with what I have left. At the end of the day, I am turning into the corpse I was afraid to meet.

Some things come to an end even before we can make sense of them. This body is too tired to go on, no matter how hard I try to find a way out, trying to get back something I have lost.

I will stay here, with no voice, no hand to write: even dead, I will exist in this place.

It is so, this place: it connects what has never been together: life and death.
What resides in the cave, what is remembered by these pages, is hanging on cables, swinging between silence and voice. What exists here is not certain to live. What exists here, is a sequence of codes, characters, electrical signals perpetually in motion, carrying corpses or living bodies on the same boats, on a sea of lights and links.

I disconnect the cable from the page as my strength leaves me. I bring it closer to my eyes, which have not seen enough of all this white sea. Sparks faintly surface from the end, closer and closer to the pupils.

I have not seen enough

I don’t close my eyelids while the cold ignites my iris

I have not seen enough

One last breath is failing to go through my throat

I have not seen enough