A drop of blood reaches the eye of an elephant figure. A wooden drawer closes and the elephant vanishes. I am in a house with plush leather sofa and square-tiled floors, then long aisles of chairs with ornate metallic legs facing mirrors in neat square tiles. I am a prisoner somewhere a prison-break through broken wooden walls outside of which there is a cement staircase with a scimitar lying on the ground. I am in someone’s house, a woman. I see cadets in some modern military barracks rise up to salute and a helicopter in a bright blue sky as the television in a television screen with white subtitles grand announcement regards ‘justice’.