Mugged, strangled and left cold on the street-True Horror stories in modern Paris part 30

It should have been a perfect night.  My long-time idol Mr Peter Frampton was coming to Paris on his final tour.  I was never a party girl or a club hopper, but this last concert, due to his health issue, could not be missed.  However, the first red flag was raised when all the public transport went on strike.  Taxis were impossible to catch, so I walked home.  I chose the busy streets and reached only 50 meters from my building.  It was still about 22:15, so my caution dropped, and I opted to take a mini shortcut.  I saw a black man in the distance, but he was walking away, so I did not worry.

However, the next moment he was right behind me.  The man grabbed my bag, forcing me to turn around.  I saw his black face from the front, which is where my memory ended.  I woke up to someone asking my name inside the ambulance.  I was informed that someone had reported an unconscious Asian woman left cold on the street to the police.  According to the brain scanner at the emergency hospital, I was bleeding inside my head. 

I accept my share of the blame for this attack because I chose to drop caution at the last moment.  But would it still give the attacker the license to bash a tiny woman like me into unconsciousness, which resulted in impaired vision?  I am stuck with a double image of anything further than 10 meters for a long time, if not forever.  My neck muscle was sore because of the strangulation.  The police reckoned a knife was not used, probably because the mugger thought I had already died.  My stolen credit card record shows that the attacker enjoyed a taco immediately after the easy kill.  Black lives matter more than Asian because my family would not have been awarded millions of dollars in compensation for my murder.

I had been aware of the news of Asian bashing in the US.  Not a few black people made up the instigators.  However, I still naively believed that black people would choose to make friends with Asians because whites discriminated against blacks…according to them.  But what do I know or care?  My future is with impaired vision.  The hospital told me they were nothing they could do and were no longer responsible for me.  An old French woman, severely battered, was being brought in.  So I wobbled back to my apartment with one eye closed to avoid double vision.

My vision is fine so long as I stay indoors and focus on things nearby.  I can still write and draw…but I can no longer travel to new places.  But it could have been much worse, and I must be grateful for that.  I remember the pearly laughter of Mr Peter Frampton on the stage.  His muscles were losing mobility due to his incurable disease, robbing him of the ability to walk, let alone play the guitar intricately, as he did before.  And yet, Mr. Frampton was facing his glim future with a brave face and tried his best to give his fans the last good time.  It was the first time I heard his laughter, and I was relieved that it was pearly and pure.  Some handsome people, men or women, disappoint us with a vulgar jeering laugh.  It was a tremendous relief that Mr. Frampton had class.   He is my hero whose courage I intend to follow and imitate as I live with my impaired vision.  

A few days later, I still had to report the attack to the police because I needed to get my stolen carte de Sejour/visa re-issued.  The police requested the attacker's description, but as I could not accurately describe it in French, I drew.  This is what I submitted to the police.  As you can see, there was no hatred on his face.  Perhaps it was business as usual to him.

The man who mugged, assaulted, left me cold on the street of Paris.

As the writer of The Rules of Retribution, I ought to be wishing retribution on him.  Some people may even opt to profit financially by playing 'victim business'.  However, I feel no anger towards him, partially because I blame myself for walking into that trap but mainly because I want to live in a world of light where the courageous like Mr Framptom are.  My life is not forever; my mind cannot be tied to the dark underbelly where the attacker wriggles.  I will get myself adapted to my condition somehow.  I wish to keep my laughter clean like that of one and only Mr Peter Frampton.

Peter Frampton whose pure soul is relfected in the mirror behind him


 


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