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The true horror stories in Paris-Part 14

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Up to this point I had never thought of the possibility of the two neighbours from Hell being involved in crimes.  I was afraid of Leila’s fiancé turning physically violent on me, but the frequent use of the washing machine upstairs was becoming abnormal.  So I decided to google two words, ‘washing machine’ and the other word…I had no ideas what it was called because I was a boring prude that I still am.  Then by pure luck the YouTube videos featuring Mr. Bill Maher that I had been following was discussing the medical use of some potent plants.  I saw the word that starts with ‘W’ on the monitor next to Mr. Maher.  That must be the second word I needed.  I googled and then was blown away by all the videos that came up.  I knew that man was not in cleanliness.  But how could Leila, who seemingly a smart woman, could be supporting such a man?  Then I remembered one conversation we had before she turned anti-social on me. I remembered Leila hobbling down the stairs a few days aft

The true horror stories in Paris-Part 13

Our survival instincts are often compromised by our denial of the imminent danger.  A pair of amoral people were living above my studio, and yet I chose to be blind to the risk.  Maybe I was too scared to confront the truth and yet foolishly refused to acknowledge the defeat by moving out.  As much as it sounds like ‘Victims bashing’, I feel victims, unless children, may be partially responsible for the tragedies, judging from my own behavior. But in my defense, the noise of their washing machine was weakening me.  I was puzzled as to why it should have oppressed my chest (technically 'breast', but I felt the pressure deeper inside).  It turned out that the washing machines emit infrasounds, otherwise known as a slower killer that triggers depression in the long run.  The noise was amplified by their tile floor and insulation material was difficult to apply on my centuries old uneven ceiling lined with woods.  Like the title says, it is the true horror story in Paris.

The true horror stories in Paris-Part 12

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I was going to call the Police should the washing continue to the later hours, but the image of Leila’s fiancé was somewhat unnerving.  Besides, that night Leila did not do her washing.  Probably she had tediously done so during my absence, only to have found out that she wasted her electricity for nothing because I had not been there to suffer the noise.  Her high heels could be heard on my ceiling though.  It conveyed her mood that she was irritated.  Being with her beloved did not seem to improve her mood.  Who said that love conquers all?  Not the dark desire to harm the others from the looks of it. The following morning her high heels left the apartment.  I was surprised to see her fiancé standing by the window of the stairs in the afternoon.  I did not ask any questions, but he started gloating on his high educational degrees.  And he found himself living in Leila’s room with no day jobs?  I would accept that as appropriate from writers and artists only.  He went back to Lei

The true horror stories in Paris-Part 11

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Incapable of escaping the suffering I was subjected by my anti-social neighbor upstairs, I prayed for the morning to come sooner when Leila would have to go to work.  She did and her high heels kicking the floor subsided, but right before she left she had set her washing machine for another long cycle again.  Beaten, I lost conscious.  I woke up with a lot of sweat.  Weak as I was my survival instinct kicked in I managed to get up and hobbled down to the nearest grocery shop to buy some fresh orange juice.  I drank 2 liters at one sitting. Now what?  Complaining to Leila’s landlord did not work out for Mr. A.  Besides it would only fuel Leila’ morbid desire to prey on the vulnerable.  It was her only way of mitigating her own sense of inferiority she is subjected to by other Caucasians in her miserable life.  I had to pretend that her washing machine did not bother me so as not to encourage her further, but to do that I had to book a hotel for to get over my flu.  The hotel fees a

The true horror stories in Paris-Part 10

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No matter how many times she has been terror attacked Paris does not lose her glamour and continues to allure tourists.  The life in Paris has been a battle of some form or another all along.  It is nothing new and the Parisians, the survivors deserved to be proud.  The world may judge the Parisians to be arrogant, but they have earned the right to be selective as to whom they befriend.  You cannot fool them with a mere superficial smile.  They can see through you, just like they have seen through Leila and not one Parisian opted to be close, polite but not embracing.  Leila wonders why but there is one man who knows the reason.  Our poor Mr. A. who woke up with less sense in his tongue. He immediately complained to Leila’s landlord.  However…Leila made good use  of her youth and turned the story around.  Mr. A, a lonely old man, had been seeking her attention and after declining his advance he tried to get back at her with his ludicrous claim.   Now, the landlords tend to bel

The true horror stories in Paris-Part 9

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Mr. A. returned to his apartment feeling much relieved that his talk with Leila went cordially.  He would at last have peace and quiet after this night.  He put on his kettle to make himself a cupper…then 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 it that she came home after 19:00…’  Mr. A. tried to explain Leila to himself, but she could have set the timer on her machine so that it would wash during the normal 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. A held on waiting for the final bang.  It came and the quiet that followed relaxed his muscles.  Mr. A sighed.  It was nearly 22:00.  But wait…Leila re-started the washing cycle

The true horror stories in Paris-Part 8

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Leila immediately started badmouthing her French landlord lady as if she knew her personally.  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, a lot of them black people.   Well, I had seen it before, a white person posing to be humanitarian by surrounding herself/himself with the minorities.   A lot of them truly are so, but there have been cases where their motives were to numb the pain of rejection by their own peers.  The latter would try establish their superiority over the weak and in Leila’s case, she had already driven out Mr. A, my previous resident who was aged and weaken.  I mentioned in my last post that violence is not the only mean to hurt people in Paris.  It goes without saying that the infrastructure of the buildings here is ancient, but still the outside walls are usually built with solid rock or sand stones.  However, due to rapidly increasing demand for acco