I opened my crystal blue eyes, and bathed in the scent of spring. The freshly mowed grass, and the enticing smell of lilacs. Mmm, Paris. Wringing my leather messenger bag strap with my calloused hand, I strolled in a picturesque cafe, named Macaroon & Le Chocolaut Chaud. Ten minutes later, I picked up my ordered macarons and hot chocolate, and snatched a seat on a quaint iron table in the sea of outdoor tables. Taking a munch out of the french delicacy, it was comparable to heaven on earth.
People watching, I spotted something peculiar. It was a young man probably in his early thirties; I didn't recognize him. He had on a black tuxedo with a tucked in folded scarlet scarf along with a cane, and was power walking towards where I was seated. It's a new human every time, I convey in my head. When he reached the iron fence between the cafe's eating place and the semi-deserted lamp post lit street, he formally handed me a rose scented letter between his index and middle finger. This letter meant that I had a mission to complete. It was 2am, on my first day in France, and already, I was needed. "Open in private," the man mumbled. And off went the over hair gelled human. He went in the direction of the fashion sector, which made sense. A sharp dressed man would know buckets about fashion.
Heaving a sigh, I searched around, and feeling satisfied with the forlorn lane, I prepared myself for the jaunt in the direction of my townhouse. Reaching my destination, I opened the contrasting blood red door in the paper white building of the townhouse. Starting toward my apartment, I jaunted up the opening staircase in the foyer. Fourth floor. Marching up the obstacle known as stairs, I finally reached my miniscule home. Plopping down on the feathery bed, I slid my finger along the side of the envelope, effectively opening the letter. Picking out the letter from its cage, it displayed:
Dear Ms. Summer:
You are hereby needed to attend the congregation at THE LOUVRE at 12:00 sharp. BURN ONCE READ; THEN BURN THE ASHES. ~The Double Society
An assembly at a museum, and the world's largest at that. That'll make an interesting get together. With that thought in my mind, my eyelids felt like they had 20 pound weights on them. I fell into a tranquil slumber in my clothes, on my creamy, delectable mattress.
YOU ARE READING
Stolen Macaron
Short StoryZandra has done many things in her teen life span. She though she was on break from her Secret Agent job, but boy, was she wrong. The Golden Macaron has been stolen from the Louvre, and Mission and Double Society put their best two agents for the jo...
