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With Meto Yves Grevet has had great success in France, eight winning literary awards.

"This morning, however, is different: one bed was broken during the night. One of us is in danger and is probably living his last hours in the House. "
The house is situated on a deserted island, everything is clean, tidy and we live 64 boys who underwent a strict martial education, divided by age into groups that bear the name of a color.
obey the orders of the Caesars without being able to ask questions, have classes in agriculture, mechanics and violent practices team games.
Their worst fear is to grow too much and be forced to enter the world who do not know: in their memories, only has the House.
Meto is a red, is one of the largest, in a few months he will leave, but to where? What awaits her after the House and what do they want to hide the Caesars? Meto no longer content to follow the routines that require others, wants to find out who and what out.

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even if I had the skin of an unusual color you'd be beautiful

In your room is too hot because you're the sun. And when your tears are born light find my rainbows. They are there, right in my eyes, and that's when everything becomes a caress. Thunderstorms are songs of nightingale. The sirens of the ambulance symphonies of Beethoven. Then squeeze your emotions as tubes of tempera then color the world. And you're always there. Capital of my state of mind.
About a year ago I almost drowned. Today
live is my favorite hobby.

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The search for a model building
can not disregard the analysis and development of the territory,
the environment and local traditions.

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accommodation in the mountains - the study of furniture

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... I noticed that behind me. I pretended nothing, I turned right without looking back. Then left. Then right. And yet right. And left again. I looked behind as vaguely as possible. He was always behind me. Just like you show it in its more usual representation. Black tunic. Black Cap. No meat and skin and cartilage. A skeleton with empty sockets. Almost empty. He seemed to see the stars in those holes without eyes. The narrow crescent with both hands. I realized that escape was not very logical.
- Why you follow me?
- I'm just walking a bit '
- my time has come?
-
No. - Then why do you follow me.
- we only do the same route. Is it a coincidence and nothing more.
- Ah.
- See, I am a solitary. I would not want anybody with me. I'm not going anywhere. They are all sooner or later come to me.
- So goodbye
- Hello.
continued walking. A dog pissing on the wheel of a Mercedes. By now it was dark. In the sky you could see the first stars. You must be a god to invent something like death. I went back home ...

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Year 2011 -