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The epilogue

The night fell on Paris, and I remember my arrival this day by train, I had made a very long trip, but it is not of this that I will tell you about, but I will come back to it later, or unless your keen senses understand it quickly enough.

The station was crowded, travelers jostling in a deafening din. I was a few minutes from my meeting, maybe I had made this trip, in the fold of a disturbing silence.

There were soldiers everywhere, accusing eyes accompanied by dogs strangling in their collars, and leading their master in rhythm. Fear of a terrorist attack was still ubiquitous in people's minds.

My watch said 2:26 pm and I told myself that it was impossible to be on time, making my way between the crowd, I finally arrived at the exit of this station and that I had to run.

What other choice did I have? Plus it was raining heavily, and I only had my suit and my Gazette in my hand. Razing the walls and desperately looking for shelter, my soaked diary fell to shreds on the floor.

But finally, I arrived at my destination, that famous bar that my friend told me about, I push the door in the ringing of a rather archaic bell. It was enough with this single sound for all the heads turn away, the people in this bar gave the feeling of feeling guilty.

My simple hello echoed as in an exhibition of statues with frozen and lost eyes, would it be the alcohol that had soaked them?

I didn’t have time to sit down when the bar owner asked me what I wanted to drink, and barely ordered two coffees when my friend arrived at the bar. The meeting ended in apology for being late, when I thought the opposite, but was justified by the presence of police and soldiers who search everyone on the street, for fear of a new terrorist attack.

A few days earlier, an office had exploded in the center of the city, carrying in his ashes four important personalities, and it must be said that it was rather tense at the moment.

For a long time, we had discussed about a book, and it must be said that between authors, discussions often revolved around these subjects, but also about the news, because we too have a daily life.

He took a pocket full of manuscripts from his satchel and handed it to me, and I asked him what it was. As "The Epilogue" emptied (it was the name of this Parisian bar), a strange calm invaded this rather tense place.

He told me he was on a new project and he wanted my participation to finish it, a collaboration between two authors, but I was not very accommodating to accept his request for the simple reason that I often work alone.

Then he said to me:

"Yoann, we've known each other for a long time now!" I know we’ve lost touch for a very long time, and now that you’re awakening to a new day in your life, I’d like to join you in continuing to write this book. "

The concept that he presented to me was the following, he would like to create a fantastic story around my favorite field, personal development.

I replied:

"Dear friend, I fully appreciate your enthusiasm and your desire to want to make a book together. I appreciate that you have thought of me, but give me time to think about it. "

With these words, he handed me an incomplete manuscript that ended on page 21, titled "The lead of life"

Why was he giving me something untoward? So that I can finish the story.

I took the manuscript and put it in my jacket pocket, the weather was changing, in both senses of the word because there was excitement outside and it was not advisable to go out now, despite a thinned time.

Suddenly, a crash made me jump, it was one of the panes of "The Epilogue" which had just exploded under the effect of a projectile. Gunshots and screams were getting louder, and many will tell me that we are living in a funny time ...... funny ....... I don’t think that’s the right word, I would say it was pretty hard to feel threatened by an attack at any time, and times were tough in this fall 1943 season.

Some will wonder how I landed at that time, and I will answer them that it is thanks to an event which occurred a little further in this text, but do not look! You will not find it presented here, because like all history, everything has a beginning, and it is not at the beginning of this book.

Let me tell you a fabulous story, a universe halfway between the real and the imaginary, filled with magic, that which is found in each of us.

For a long time I asked myself "How was I going to write such a book? ", And it's not my habit to tell a fantastic story by combining personal development, and I wanted to make it something fun, impacting your mind.

So, I say to all of you “welcome to my world! ", That of the possible, which gives you the power to be who you want and when you want.

As I said, this book is on the borderline between the real and the imaginary and invites you to become a child again for a moment.

Forget what you have learned so far and let yourself embark on this wonderful fantastic journey mixing the rational and the confusing.

And if you have been disturbed by my vivid imagination, this lets you predict the future.

Our way of thinking comes from a succession of images that have paraded in our life, there is a form of neuro-association between a word, a form, an event, and the information which are linked to this I come to quote, such as "the Epilogue" which was only a title and the name of a bar, which you quite naturally associated with "the end of a book" and the year of my history which turned upside down all the context, which you believed to be related to the current events related to the publication of this book, but also elements which you obscured from the start, and which you will understand subsequently, I hope for you, including the name of my friend that you all know, although it may surprise you, as it is common.

"The lead of life" takes all its flavor in the imagination, and basically, what is the imagination? But yet, and despite appearances, it is indeed personal development (in another form I understand it). I would describe it as something very "spiritual", "subtle", "deep", never trust appearances!

Your intellect will be put to the test in this treasure hunt, the main hero of which is not what you think, and all I can tell you is that he is much closer to you than you cannot imagine.

Finally, you will find answers to your questions, and one in particular, if you are discerning:

"Who are you really?" "

I'll let you meditate on it, between the lines, and never forget this essential rule:

"Never trust appearances! They are deceptive!" "

“Viatorem”

What you are about to discover now comes from a true story, and even if everything will seem impossible to you, it really happened, and I hope that your keen minds will understand the course and the purpose of it. It happened a very long time ago, but when I say this, it seems quite relative, you will understand why a little further.

This story is a great mystery that no one to date has been able to solve. It was first told in 1984 by François' grandson.

The adventure, like all those of the same kind, began in April 1897 near Verdun where a young man was playing with his little brother. These two fair-haired heads were running through the cornfields, even though their father had forbidden them to go.

Suddenly, the youngest disappeared so quickly that the elder, did not even have time to turn around, just the reflex to do so after the sound of the ground creaking, smothered by the leaves of the corn. What had happened? In an instant, the younger son found himself a floor lower after the ground, and his crying alerted the larger of the two.

He rushed into what appeared to be an underground gallery or a secret hideout, and there were stacks of cases filled with old manuscripts with rather strange inscriptions.

"Come help me, I'm afraid! Said the youngest.

" Do not worry! Hold out! I'm going to get help! Replied the other.

In large strides, he ran to the family home, and in no time, he was at the entrance, completely breathless. He entered the main room where their father was, a tough man, of good education, strengthened by the work in the fields and to whom nothing is more afraid. He was reading a book, his glasses resting on the tip of his nose, sitting on his brown velvet armchair.

He looked at his older son and asked the following question:

P "Hey baby, you’re very pale, what’s happening to you? "

then the son replied with a short breath:

F "It is ... it is ... .. Henry .."

P "Who has he with Your younger brother? Have you argued yet? "

F "No ... ... this is not .... This is ... .."

P “Finally François, make understandable sentences, because even my ears have trouble recomposing what you are trying to tell me! "

F "It's Henry ... .. he is ... ... he fell in a hole"

P "What do you mean?" Explain yourself more clearly! "

F "It is ... ..in a hole ... ... in the field"

The father sighed, and like an old man, he leaned on the armrests of his armchair and with a rather lively air, he lectured his son:

P "Damn it, but how many times should I tell you? I strictly forbade you to go play in the cornfields, and this is what happens when you don't listen to me! You don't know what dangers you run! "

F "But papa! I ….. "

P "Just tell me where Henry is, I don't want to know anything else, and we'll talk about the sanctions later, meanwhile, show me where he fell!" "

On these words, the father took a rope and two oil lamps and with his son, went to the field where Henry had disappeared.

The ground to cover was immense, and François could not remember more precisely where he and his younger brother had lost sight of each other.

The night came with calls:

"HENRY …… .HENRY …… WHERE ARE YOU?" "

Suddenly a distant sound was heard! it was Henry!

H "I'm here dad! "

Pierre (that was the name of the father of the two children) came running until the screams got louder and louder.

He found the hole where Henry had fallen, and slowly approaching this cavity, he lit the bottom and saw his youngest, curled up on himself, scared and trembling! Henry looked up and exclaimed:

H "I thought you would never find me! "

P "We're here! Hold on my dear! "

At these words, the older brother brought the rope while his father lit up this rather sinister place.

P "Come down kid while I hold the rope!" "

François wrapped the rope around his waist and began to descend into this underground room. Then joined his little brother.

F "How are you Henry? Nothing broken? "

H "No, but I was so scared! There is something wrong with this place! "

On these words, François explored this cavity. There were the cases mentioned above, but also, they had inscriptions in German, artillery pieces, rifles and helmets, and this environment seemed foreign to the two young aspiring explorers.

In a small box placed above these boxes, there were letters written in German.

Their father, hearing nothing more, exclaimed:

P "Are you okay?" Why do you take so long to go up? It's getting late! Come back up right away! "

F "Everything is fine! Just that ... wait a few minutes, we are coming! "

As he said these words, François lit up a corner of the room, and what he saw made him cold in the back. There was an inscription on the wall, as written in blood letters.

F "Dad! Do you know what "Vorsicht vor dem Reisenden!" Means? "

P "It's German! At least what I remember from the War of 70 (Franco-Prussian conflict), that means "beware of the traveler", now go back up! You scare me now and I don't want to get angry! ”

After these few words, he said to himself:

"Damn, I'm going to go get them!"

and he went down to join them.

And there it was astonishment! He recognized an old military hiding place, but something was wrong with the context, because there were mash press sticks in these cases, and it was more and more mysterious, but he was still a thousand miles from suspect what was to follow.

P "My children! You made me one of those scares, I was getting impatient upstairs! And what is this place? "

F "We thought you would know"

On closer inspection, their father took one of the letters written in German which were in a box. It was a love letter from what he translated.

This former soldier had had plenty of time to hear German words during the War of 70, and he was able to translate its content:

" My beloved; I put these few words on this sheet, and I find it hard to write them! My frostbite makes me suffer, I barely have the strength to continue and I have so much to tell you!

I am also afraid that the censor will prevent me from telling you under what conditions I live, and I so much want to brave the