Sunday, 29 April 2018

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 71

You may wonder why I still retain the title ‘The bullied takes on Goliath’ after Mr. Honour went out of the picture.  Well…I learnt from this grim experience that Goliath does not exist on its own.  It may even have been made to turn into one by the sycophants surrounding the former honorable man. 

The man who walked into the restaurant was Mr. Justice, brother of Mme. Empathy.  My readers would remember that they sold this restaurant pending 2 lawsuits without a full explanation.  It was a text book case of property frauds and yet Mr. Justice had the nerve to show up with a smile to meet his prey, Mme. Harmonie.  How is that possible?  I screamed inside me.  

In need of some explanation that would make sense I searched the internet.  The discovery was even more incredible.  Mr. Justice worked as a humanitarian.  He denounced Mme. Le Pen for racial discrimination, but this was the man who let his sister build the chamber of horror where I, an Asian woman, was fried above the restaurant cooking ventilation.  This is the man who let his sister terrorize her neighbours at two restaurants and more from what I heard making many French neighours sick day and night.  And yet he smiled in the photo like an icon of justice and benevolence.  Scary part was that he really seemed to believe it himself.  Talk about selective memory…

And where did Mme. Harmonie fit into this equation?  I soon found out.  One night I heard a chorus from below that gradually turned into howling.  Then my apartment started to shake.  The whole building shook from what I learnt later from stomping that continued all night.  I was not annoyed, I was scared.  Usually my curiosity would beckon me to find out what was happening, but instinct told me to stay away from what was obviously a ritual of some kind.  As I listened to their primitive shouts, getting louder each time, I could not help but remember the dark souls of the butchers who lived near Notre Dame Cathedral praying on the tourists to consume their flesh.  Their shops are no more and there is a police station, but their souls that could not have been accepted into the heaven may have found a new hang out.

Nonsense, I tried calming myself.  But I sadly remembered that Mme. Harmonie knew that I suffered from the thin ceiling of the restaurant.  And yet she allowed this thunder like gathering to happen.  No, she probably did not even remember that I existed.  I pictured herself dancing away merrily with Mr. Justice down stairs.  Outwardly she is a respected critique and he is a revered humanitarian.  The whole community of them, protected by Mr. Honour, the Goliath.  I choked on the cursed vapour invading into my apartment.  I felt sick to the core.  I was falling down the abyss of human souls that is essentially evil.  I searched for something to grab at frantically. 

Then it touched my finger.  To be continued.
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