Chapter 3
chapter 1
chapter 2
THREE
The delicate white clouds were being whisked about the perfect blue sky on a beautiful Parisian morning. The sun diligently watched over the people below with a radiant pride. The wind gently brushed through the angelic flowers as it also cooled off a haggard-looking group of tourists who were supposed to be learning two-thousand years of history in about five minutes, but were paying little attention to their young, happy-go-lucky tour guide. She knew better than to try to keep their attention. The best way to teach them about Paris was to let them absorb the culture and their surroundings. This way the tourists can individualize their experience to their likings. While Blanche Lefou kept speaking about Caesar's conquest over the Gauls of the Parisii tribe in 52 B.C., a couple of guys were being entertained by a few local kids playing a ferocious soccer match and a few girls were experiencing an olfactory charm from the swaying, white flowers that would remain in their minds for the rest of their lifetime. But, every once in a while a terrible thought flickered on into Blanche's head. Why don't they respect me?! Why don't they listen to me! Disrespectful slugs! But, she decided to put that dark thought away just as quickly as it appeared. She knew it wasn't right to think like that.
She finished up giving her history lesson to the tourists and started back to her apartment. Blanche liked being a tour guide. It helped her to realize how lucky she was to live in the most glamorous city in the world. She lived in what other people merely dreamed of. She appreciated being able to see I. M. Pey's pyramid and Da Vinci's Mona Lisa whenever she wanted, but more so she appreciated the smaller things, like the buskers playing accordion and base violin who smiled at the people who threw spare change in the hat on the ground and the friendly cobblestone streets that seemed to link the past with the present. She loved the things that gave Paris that unique vibe that one can only experience by being in the magnificent city of light. She woke up every morning and looked out the window of her 18th century baroque two-bedroom flat in the center of the Marais and saw the Seine river and let the wind blow through her soft blonde hair.
The Marais is one of the oldest parts of Paris and it has a reputation of being a lavish neighborhood. It is a magnificently diverse section of the city full of many varying types of people. It is amazing to think of the fact that many of the most elegant people in France, in the world even, live in an area that was at one time an uninhabitable swampland. It wasn't until the 1960's that this forgotten quarter of Paris finished transforming into the cultural center it is today. As Blanche looked out her window her thoughts would sometimes drift to an image of what the view would look like if the area was still a marsh. She closed her eyes and saw everything unfold about her, but it was not an inviting picture at all. The dead trees stuck out of the ground sporadically in all different directions as if they were trying to escape from the dreadful grip of the ground. The fog seemed as though it were trying to suck any life out of the swamp. It surrounded everything and nothing could escape it's crushing grasp. The water was black and had a distinct smell of sulfur and decay. The image was horrifying, yet hypnotizing at the same time. Whenever it occurred she had a hard time opening her eyes and returning to the present. She was glad that it didn't happen often. In fact, it hadn't happened in nearly half a year now.
Blanche was almost home and she decided to give in to her one temptation. She stopped at a quaint patisserie that she believed to be one of the best kept secrets of Paris. It held the clé de son coeur; her biggest weakness: cheesecake. It was the only place one could buy real cheesecake in the whole city. Blanche almost believed that cheesecake existed only to please her tastebud. The light brown crust that crumbled as she ate it and its texture complemented the creamy white filling of the cake perfectly to produce a harmonic taste that, for only a few seconds, brought about the most primal and pure bliss imaginable to her.
"Cela coûte €1.10, s'il vous plait," The lady said behind the counter, prematurely interrupting Blanche's cheesecake heaven.
She took the change out of her purse and handed it to the lady, "D'accord"
"Be careful out there," the lady continued speaking in French, "It's getting dark."
"Oh, I’m just a few blocks down."
While Blanche had her purse open in the patisserie she noticed that she was a little more strapped for cash than she noticed before. Perhaps she should cut back on the little expenditures for a little while. Being a tour guide isn't the most high paying job after all and she didn't want to lose her apartment. She and her sister would be homeless, not that she cared much about her sister being homeless. Melanie deserved to be homeless; she never even helps out with the rent. Blanche had almost no contact with her sister and liked it that way. Melanie took part in the nocturnal life of Paris. She almost always left after Blanche went to sleep and came back before she woke up. Every once in a great while, they would pass each other on the way to their respective destinations and if there was an observer it would be impossible for them to tell that the two were siblings. Blanche found it interesting that each time she happened to see Melanie there was a new piercing, or a new tattoo, or a new hair color.
Blanche left the shop and started to walk home. It was rather cool now that the sun had left the sky. The white clouds that inhabited the sky earlier had turned into more threatening dark grey clouds that almost blended in with the night sky. The moon was bright and almost seemed to bore a hole through the clouds. The hairs on the back of Blanche's neck were stood at attention as though they were soldiers getting ready to march into battle. The wind rustled some leaves behind her. Wait, was it the wind? Blanche looked behind her, but didn't see anything besides a shabby building with a cracked wooden door that looked as though was about to fall off its hinges. There was some sort of sign on the door, but Blanche didn't want to read the sign; she just wanted to get home. She had a sudden surge of fear and her face went pale. She gripped her purse tight and quickened her pace.
She was almost there now, just a few more blocks. Her heart was thumping in her chest to the beat of a Mexican flamenco dance. She saw things out of the corner of her eye, but as she turned her head they also turned; they turned into nothings. A mannequin in a shop window almost caused Blanche to scream. A wisp of smoke from the sewer tunnels below made her heart skip a beat. Her own reflection in a puddle of water even scared her. It looked for a second like her sister was laying on the side of the street. She finally reached the steps of her building and had to stop to catch her breathe. She told herself over and over that there was nothing following her. She calmed down and went up to the door of the building. She started to open it up when she heard the distinct swish and click of a cigarette lighter from behind her. All those feelings of fear and dread rushed back to her in an instant. She closed her eyes and turned around.
chapter 2
THREE
The delicate white clouds were being whisked about the perfect blue sky on a beautiful Parisian morning. The sun diligently watched over the people below with a radiant pride. The wind gently brushed through the angelic flowers as it also cooled off a haggard-looking group of tourists who were supposed to be learning two-thousand years of history in about five minutes, but were paying little attention to their young, happy-go-lucky tour guide. She knew better than to try to keep their attention. The best way to teach them about Paris was to let them absorb the culture and their surroundings. This way the tourists can individualize their experience to their likings. While Blanche Lefou kept speaking about Caesar's conquest over the Gauls of the Parisii tribe in 52 B.C., a couple of guys were being entertained by a few local kids playing a ferocious soccer match and a few girls were experiencing an olfactory charm from the swaying, white flowers that would remain in their minds for the rest of their lifetime. But, every once in a while a terrible thought flickered on into Blanche's head. Why don't they respect me?! Why don't they listen to me! Disrespectful slugs! But, she decided to put that dark thought away just as quickly as it appeared. She knew it wasn't right to think like that.
She finished up giving her history lesson to the tourists and started back to her apartment. Blanche liked being a tour guide. It helped her to realize how lucky she was to live in the most glamorous city in the world. She lived in what other people merely dreamed of. She appreciated being able to see I. M. Pey's pyramid and Da Vinci's Mona Lisa whenever she wanted, but more so she appreciated the smaller things, like the buskers playing accordion and base violin who smiled at the people who threw spare change in the hat on the ground and the friendly cobblestone streets that seemed to link the past with the present. She loved the things that gave Paris that unique vibe that one can only experience by being in the magnificent city of light. She woke up every morning and looked out the window of her 18th century baroque two-bedroom flat in the center of the Marais and saw the Seine river and let the wind blow through her soft blonde hair.
The Marais is one of the oldest parts of Paris and it has a reputation of being a lavish neighborhood. It is a magnificently diverse section of the city full of many varying types of people. It is amazing to think of the fact that many of the most elegant people in France, in the world even, live in an area that was at one time an uninhabitable swampland. It wasn't until the 1960's that this forgotten quarter of Paris finished transforming into the cultural center it is today. As Blanche looked out her window her thoughts would sometimes drift to an image of what the view would look like if the area was still a marsh. She closed her eyes and saw everything unfold about her, but it was not an inviting picture at all. The dead trees stuck out of the ground sporadically in all different directions as if they were trying to escape from the dreadful grip of the ground. The fog seemed as though it were trying to suck any life out of the swamp. It surrounded everything and nothing could escape it's crushing grasp. The water was black and had a distinct smell of sulfur and decay. The image was horrifying, yet hypnotizing at the same time. Whenever it occurred she had a hard time opening her eyes and returning to the present. She was glad that it didn't happen often. In fact, it hadn't happened in nearly half a year now.
Blanche was almost home and she decided to give in to her one temptation. She stopped at a quaint patisserie that she believed to be one of the best kept secrets of Paris. It held the clé de son coeur; her biggest weakness: cheesecake. It was the only place one could buy real cheesecake in the whole city. Blanche almost believed that cheesecake existed only to please her tastebud. The light brown crust that crumbled as she ate it and its texture complemented the creamy white filling of the cake perfectly to produce a harmonic taste that, for only a few seconds, brought about the most primal and pure bliss imaginable to her.
"Cela coûte €1.10, s'il vous plait," The lady said behind the counter, prematurely interrupting Blanche's cheesecake heaven.
She took the change out of her purse and handed it to the lady, "D'accord"
"Be careful out there," the lady continued speaking in French, "It's getting dark."
"Oh, I’m just a few blocks down."
While Blanche had her purse open in the patisserie she noticed that she was a little more strapped for cash than she noticed before. Perhaps she should cut back on the little expenditures for a little while. Being a tour guide isn't the most high paying job after all and she didn't want to lose her apartment. She and her sister would be homeless, not that she cared much about her sister being homeless. Melanie deserved to be homeless; she never even helps out with the rent. Blanche had almost no contact with her sister and liked it that way. Melanie took part in the nocturnal life of Paris. She almost always left after Blanche went to sleep and came back before she woke up. Every once in a great while, they would pass each other on the way to their respective destinations and if there was an observer it would be impossible for them to tell that the two were siblings. Blanche found it interesting that each time she happened to see Melanie there was a new piercing, or a new tattoo, or a new hair color.
Blanche left the shop and started to walk home. It was rather cool now that the sun had left the sky. The white clouds that inhabited the sky earlier had turned into more threatening dark grey clouds that almost blended in with the night sky. The moon was bright and almost seemed to bore a hole through the clouds. The hairs on the back of Blanche's neck were stood at attention as though they were soldiers getting ready to march into battle. The wind rustled some leaves behind her. Wait, was it the wind? Blanche looked behind her, but didn't see anything besides a shabby building with a cracked wooden door that looked as though was about to fall off its hinges. There was some sort of sign on the door, but Blanche didn't want to read the sign; she just wanted to get home. She had a sudden surge of fear and her face went pale. She gripped her purse tight and quickened her pace.
She was almost there now, just a few more blocks. Her heart was thumping in her chest to the beat of a Mexican flamenco dance. She saw things out of the corner of her eye, but as she turned her head they also turned; they turned into nothings. A mannequin in a shop window almost caused Blanche to scream. A wisp of smoke from the sewer tunnels below made her heart skip a beat. Her own reflection in a puddle of water even scared her. It looked for a second like her sister was laying on the side of the street. She finally reached the steps of her building and had to stop to catch her breathe. She told herself over and over that there was nothing following her. She calmed down and went up to the door of the building. She started to open it up when she heard the distinct swish and click of a cigarette lighter from behind her. All those feelings of fear and dread rushed back to her in an instant. She closed her eyes and turned around.
posted by thosegoldfishes at 7:58 PM
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