…as I was sifting through a heap of old and new “identity cards,” I noticed that something was missing: my identity.

Quantin crept closer to the knoll. A pungent smell passed through his nostrils up into his brain. Attracted by the poppies’ scarlet smears, he was about to take another step when he felt a hand...

Hiding my half existence behind the opaque walls of my skull, concealing it like a shameful disease, I did not consider the simple fact that the same thing could be occurring under other skullcaps, in...

People are ignorant of what any street clock knows. Why? Because the crack that cleaves existence also swallows their existence-reflecting consciousnesses. Thrown back into existence, the poor souls don’t suspect that a moment ago they...

In short, you had that particular ability which I never had: the ability to be alive.

But it’s fair to say that the war’s [WWI] dialectic forced those who were more or less alive to go to their death, and gave those who were more or less dead the right to...