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The true horror stories in modern Paris Part 18

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I could see from the ripped corner of the large envelope that it was a bag of snack.  Why anyone would go pale over that, I wondered.  We were still at the talking stage, Leila and me.  I suggested ‘Has a company sent you a sample?’  She replied ‘No’ with a subdued voice.  ‘A gift from your friend?’  I asked thinking it would be an odd gift to send by post.  Leila blurted out, ‘but I am allergic to this!  No friend of mine would send me this stuff!’  Some allergic is more serious than others.  People can pass out…even on the street where automobiles go by.  The snack would be an unkind gift in this case.  ‘Do you recognize the name of the sender?’  Leila showed me it was blank.  To make the matter weirder, it had been posted overseas.  I was absolutely stupefied. A few months later, here I was looking at another anonymous package addressed to Leila.  I could tell the content was again a bag of snack.  Someone wanted her dead.  I just sensed it.  I saw the postage and recognize

The true horror stories in modern Paris Part 17

North Korea launched another missile towards Japan just hours ago and yet I am updating my blog as business as usual.  Just as we often refuse to confront the imminent danger, we also deny the past danger as if it had been all in our mind.   In my case, I wanted to retain faith in humanity so as days gone by I tried to see Leila in a more sympathetic light.  Had she not been suffering from chronical pain in her joints, she may not have mixed up with a bad news like him.  Then she may have been nicer, if not less anti-social… However, I could not suppress the memory of her high heels persistently struck against the tile floor in the middle of night.  The impact did not just annoy Mr. A. and me, but it may have well been the reason her joints were damaged which led to her having chronical pain.  Maybe it was her malicious intent that started the whole negative spiral karma after all... It was with this thought I stood in front of the mailbox when the postman placed a packet as

The true horror stories in modern Paris Part 16

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Needless to say I caught up with my long awaited restful sleep in Wien the first few days.  As I regained my strength I assessed the situation.  The bar next door should not be too much problems as the owner-residents would surely take care of the noise once they are back from Christmas holidays.  So it was back to those two anti-socials upstairs.  Perhaps I could notify the owner and the police and stay away from Paris for a while.  That would have cost me unnecessary expenses, but quitting Paris for good never occurred to me.  Not until I got harassed by the French.  Leila was from Algeria and she seemed determined to defy anything French including the French regulations.  She was determined to establish superiority over me the Asian by any means, mostly foul.  She may try but those two misfit foreigners were not going to drive me away from Paris.  Besides…something told me the things were going to be all right as I listened to the God sent voice of angels by the Vienna Boys’ Choi

The true horror stories in modern Paris Part 15

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Fate—a factor you cannot overuse in fictions lest the plot becomes unrealistically convenient.  Thus the characters have to take the matters in their hands.  The readers cheer on while fully being aware that it does not happen in real life.  As this is my true story I could only wait for the fate to intervene.  I could not even move out the apartment because the agent would want to know the reason for breaking the contract.  If I told them, they would contact the landlord of Leila and that would tick off her fiancé.  Thus, I was barely surviving with a sound masking application which softens the onslaught of the washing machine and her relentless high-heel strikes on the floor without carpets. Then one night a blast of disco music blocked out every sound in the world.  It was coming from the next door bar whose manager had no respect for the thin walls of the historic buildings.  The drumming beat continued to hit me until 03:00 in the morning.  Maybe longer but my memory stops th

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