I followed this woman with my eye, without leaving her for a moment. She did not go unnoticed, that’s for sure. Her Turkish veil covering her face, only her green eyes could be seen, shining like emeralds. She took the time to look at me as she crossed the street, oblivious to the traffic threatening her with every step.
And I understood, she wanted me to follow her. So I followed from afar so as not to arouse the suspicions of others, but I rushed over to as soon as I could. We came to a dead end.
Suddenly, when no one was passing around, time seemed to have stopped, she bared her face, revealing pretty lips and mesmerizing brown hair.
“Are you the painter?” She said to me in a voice soft as honey or like the flapping of a swallow’s wing.
– “You know me?”
– “I am from the future, and you must come with me”
– “From the future ? Is this joke?”
It was there that I started this fabulous adventure which helped me become the painter that I am today: Thomas William Marshall. I made people believe in my death on September 2, 1914. But life was only beginning in the future. The distant horizon had become the summer sunbeam, present and future, ignorant past, instantaneous moment.