The true horror stories in Modern Paris Part 1

If it were ever disclosed, my complete profile would reveal all sorts of minority groups, starting with my gender and race. I have been harassed on many levels throughout my life, but I lacked the stomach and power to carry out revenge. This was a blessing in disguise because retribution eventually manifested itself, which inspired me to share it on this blog. I quote many others before me that ‘True horror is hidden within man’.


Parisians may be the most sought-after people in the world. Their fashion, philosophy, cuisine, and, most importantly, society are coveted by those who flew in with the utmost expectation. Of course, Parisians are not obliged to reciprocate just because people self-invited themselves into their city of light.  


'But I tried so hard to be nice to them!' Leila uttered with a grudge. She is one of those hopefuls rejected by Parisians after living here for some years. I do not need to describe her physical appearance because her reaction is a giveaway that she is a white person. I can't speak for all the coloured races, but I, for one, would be content if the locals just responded to me calmly. Friendship is not something you can demand of people, and there is another kind of comfort in being left alone. 


But I suspect people like Leila need Parisian friends as a trophy to prove themselves to her people back home. Not everyone can achieve authentic success in life, which requires hard work, so Leila opted for a shortcut but failed, and now she was bitter. 

Leila was too eager to trash Parisians, starting with her landlords even when we first met as neighbours. I had seen this type before. Next, those rejected will vent their frustration on the weak or the minorities. I knew her recent victim. He was my previous resident, a kind old English retiree. I shall call him Mr. KIND. He was a white man but weak in physic due to his age, which Leila took great advantage of until his life in Paris became such a hell that he finally had to leave the place. Only this was revealed after I had signed the rental contract; thanks for nothing.

The French often get a bad rap, but this is unfair because lots of bullying is done by immigrants who even enjoy tarnishing the reputation of the French people. So with a sinking heart, I watched her superficial smile. The fact that I was an Asian seemed to have relaxed her attitude. She casually threw into the conversation that she had many international friends, many of them black people. She stopped to observe my reaction or my admiration. Well, I had seen this type too, a white person posing to be humanitarian by surrounding themselves with the minorities.  

In some cases, they are genuinely so, but there are those whose motive is to numb the pain of rejection by their white peers. The latter would try to establish their superiority over the weak. In Leila's case, she had already driven out Mr KIND, my previous resident who was aged and weakened. I was not impressed by Leila, and she may have sensed it. You might wonder if Leila would use violence, but no. In Paris, there are many other ways to damage people.  

mirror reflects your soul

In the old quartier of Paris, the infrastructure of the buildings is archaic, and the outside walls are usually built with solid rock or sandstones. However, due to the rapidly increasing demand for accommodation, the apartments were partitioned into smaller segments with flimsy walls. The noise that travels through the thin indoor walls is bothersome. Therefore, all residents must observe the social etiquette of keeping the noise down after 22:00. All electrical appliances must stop. It is anti-social and even deemed crass to wash on Sundays in Paris because of the old infrastructure. 

When Mr. KIND first heard the washing machine going after 22:00 upstairs, he hoped it was one isolated incident. But then it continued all week and then on Saturday. He could not believe it, but still, Mr. KIND expected Leila to refrain from washing on Sunday. No such luck as the tumbling vibration woke him. By this time, his sleeping pattern had been disrupted, and he was starting to feel sick. He plucked up his courage to knock on Leila's door. 

Mr. KIND retained politeness and mentioned to her that no washing on Sunday was the norm among the respectable Parisians. His voice was soft by nature that any woman would feel compelled to oblige. Leila smiled but offered no apology. Still, M. KIND expected that his trouble was over. He would, at last, have peace after this night. 

As he returned to his apartment and put on his kettle to make himself a cupper…his hand stopped. That blasted grounding noise started above his head. Leila had turned on her washing machine as soon as he had left. 'Oh, maybe she just needs to do one lot because she could not help that she came home after 19:00…' Mr. KIND tried to explain Leila to himself, but she could have set the timer on her machine so that it would wash during the regular hours of the following day. 

The machine got louder as it reached the final spinning stage. Because of the thin walls and ceiling in Paris' old buildings, it felt as if he was inside the spinning machine with his guts being oppressed. Mr KIND held on, waiting for the final bang. It came, and the quiet that followed relaxed his muscles. Mr KIND sighed. It was nearly 22:00. But wait…Leila re-started the washing cycle immediately. 

Mr KIND felt his blood pressure rising. He had told Leila that he was taking medication for his high blood pressure and needed quiet at night. She eagerly listened, so why would she still torment him with her tedious washing? Some people thrive on other people's pain. Up to this point, her washing had been just another anti-social behaviour brought about by her ill upbringing. Still, now that she knew it stressed Mr KIND mentally AND physically, things turned sinister.