= 6 =
Nothing was right. If anything was right, then everything would reign perfectly. There wouldn't be reasons for wars. There wouldn't be any diseases. Not even the slightest misunderstandings could prickle havoc, but everything wasn't perfect thus my life became a result. I was coping with this, but why? Oh, right. I was stubborn, not to mention an idealist who didn't have the nuttiest clue with what she had to do with half of her workloads.
French was a language I struggled in, yet I pushed onwards as if I were expecting everything to fall into proper order with a snap of my fingers, yet I hadn't learned anything, but the basics of greetings, a few questions, statements, as well as, little cultural background, so basically, I was in deep doodoo.
As for my desires, it was evident that the truth lay in visual arts, but instead I went for another course in the performing aspects hoping that would gain an expectant approval, but in the end, I was only hurting myself more than aiding my confidence. At this point, I couldn't divide the line between fact and fiction without something barricading the way for the majority of the time.
"What do you mean you don't know?" I asked her as she plopped down on her seat with so much as a heady stare.
Mioun appeared confused, and he had every right to be because I, like him, was not eloquent with dealing with this type of woman. A woman who had an off-chance of having a nauseating case of serious bi-polar issues that couldn't be dealt with unless one slapped some sense onto her with bright plastic, flashy neon letters, and I hoped desperately that it wasn't the latter, considering all of my past experiences involved shutting everyone down before ceremoniously resenting them by showing the tenacious signs of physical and non-inert violence.
"Hey, what's wrong-"
I was hoping the woman would do anything, but lofty glaring, though it was official - everything in this world had a particular resentment towards me when she glared at my general direction - not directly at my figure, more to the side than usual for reasons that I could only deduce as impartial blindness, yet I flipped.
This chick supposedly went for a restroom break and disappeared for a couple of hours to find her practically disassembled, and worst of all, coming from the restroom facilities! How was I supposed to react to this? A soft giggle? An apologetic smile? A nonchalant, though overdramatic confrontation about the fact that she came out of the same room with a stranger and a guy no less?
Yes, say I did, because it wouldn't inadvertently raise suspicions.
Of course, not!
I'd be tripping balls if that were the case.
"Forget it," she stated with much conviction that I would have backed off if I were anyone else, but I wasn't anyone else. I was all flesh and bones with excessive fat that made me a Homo sapien, according to the categorization of a human's order of taxonomy.
"How am I supposed to do that when my eyes saw differently?"
"Do I have to respond to that?" she asked reluctantly.
"Depends," I started. "if you deny the fact that you had sex in the compartment,"
I wasn't sure who gasped at that, but that definitely brought her attention.
"I did not have so called "sex" in that compartment," said she in a frothy manner and not denying that she, indeed, had been doing some inappropriate activities in a public environment.
"Someone could have randomly walked in on you guys!"
"The door was closed,"
Closed? Closed! She must have drunk something peculiar before stepping board because it didn't matter if the door was closed or waving at everyone like a Disneyland ad. Someone- anyone could have broken it down if they realized something fishy going on. Who knew a person could spend hours in there without feeling the need to get out? Unless they had a catalysmic health condition, then I would understand, but a woman in her twenties brought up by a wealthy family? Although they were currently having financial issues, it was obvious that she was healthier than a plant on fertilizer and cow manuer!
"We're on a plane with a dozen foreigners," -emphasizing foreigners- "and an expert lock picker could easily be one of them, who may or may not have had the sudden urge to pee, and would have broken the door down if they wanted to use it so badly," I huffed exasperatedly, but even huffing and puffing wouldn't bring her down a peg. She was still as shiny as ever. Maybe, even shinier than before, considering she just did that in the restroom. "Seeing you have the brains in this trio, I would have thought you would be more conservative or have the least bit of decency,"
I suffered a bit of mental decapitation, until Mioun's voice hoarded the closest aisles as if the news fully processed in his walnut of a mind. "She had sex in the restroom?"
I could have blasted the window open and committed suicide.
Everyone at hearing range could have heard what he blurted out. He was just asking for pain, wasn't he?
Gay or not, he couldn't have been that stupid, and to make it particularly intriguing, he had to have this solid look of disgust that waved off any doubts about the word vomit he enduced, and as if her embarassment wasn't enough, some little brat got up from his seat and began chanting the K-I-S-S-I-N-G song with his arms flailing around in the air. He didn't know the names, so he struggled a bit.
I would have sighed with relief if the kid didn't decide to label Lore as a Miranda and the mystery meat as a Rohan, and every time the kid said Rohan, it reminded me of The Lord of the Rings, and when that happened, all I could picture was Legolas's beautiful blonde locks.
How could a man without shampoo and conditioner maintain such perfect tendrils? Did he constantly put elven products to give it its sleeky shine? If not, I wanted to know his secret.
Besides that, The Lord of the Rings, reminded me of World of Warcraft because it had orcs, and because orcs were not portrayed in a malicious manner, besides the non-player characters short for NPC's and the fact that if a person were in an Alliance faction, they would have a different grapple on the course, what part of that couldn't be recollected? And, they were not "beast". They were outright terrible.
Now, I really was turning into a nerd. Way to go ex-boyfriend, emphasis on ex.
"No," I said exhaustedly. Was he not paying attention at all? "she got engaged to a wild hippopotamus and divorced it for an elephant. What do you think?"
It would have been fine if he were the correspondent. My life would be fine if he were the correspondent, but it seemed that it had other plans again, and decided that the pyschotic old man, from earlier, was back from his mild seizures he had been preoccupied with, hence the helper.
Why? Why?!
"She got engaged to a wild animal and divorced it for another!"
I was that close to taking out an invisible knife and stabbing myself repeatedly for the blatant show that people were this dense in reality, and he probably was the oldest passenger inhabiting this plane, but he could have had carbon monoxide floating in his brain the entire time.
His thoughts were demented, and he had a type of whitewashed butler aiding him around, so that had to mean something. If any, he came from a mental asylum and was being transferred to Paris from his rural community because they weren't suited to handle his condition, so now, the Parisians had to deal with a psychologically unstabled elder with a brittle mouth.
They could always use the underground tunnel connecting to London if he got out of hand, but I wouldn't want that. No one would like that. Paris was a place of love. The cripple could probably find enough love to heal himself if he vacated here long enough.
"Everyone!" he screamed, almost molting off his skin by doing so. "Congratulations to the lady who married a wild animal!"
The deafening cries blocked out most of the airy voice on the speaker, stating our arrival and somewhat relieved dismissal as if they were casually announcing the weather today, but no one could have possibly heard that with all the celebratory praises Lore got as a crowd began to formulate around us, but the celebrant was the least bit happy about this. In fact, she resembled more of an agitated squirrel than an impressed one.
"For Pete's sakes!" she yelled, but no one could hear her when twenty or so people were cheering loudly altogether, so she did the only thing that only a Lore could.
She picked up her ever-so prized text and smacked someone, and that created a ripple effect as everyone quieted down to distinguishable silence, minus the sound coming from the airport terminal and the foggy shingle of planes taking off.
Lore, appearing like a runaway model for Prada, sauntered off as men and women leaned away from the brunette haired goddess as if she sprayed them with some magical fairy dust to back off.
"Smack me," I muttered to my side.
Thankfully, it was him that answered and not some kidnapper who thought it would be alright to snatch the princess from her tower. Realistically speaking, I wasn't a princess, but more of a pauper with a heavy load of constipation to worry about and the rent! How could I forget the rent? My rent was due by the end of the month. How was I supposed to pay that off?
Okay, don't freak out. I can do this. Remember the time when I thought I'd be able to find a job easily with my employ- but that was before the manager kicked me out on my hind! Why didn't I think of this before I decided to take a leap? Oh, right. I had too much of a superficial pride, thinking I would be able to get another job with ease when, firstly, this economy wasn't like it had been back in 2007, and secondly, I might have had a high-tolerance from klutziness, while working in Sojourn because the scent of the coffee beans and food relaxed me. Any other job would generally consume me!
But, wouldn't I get the rest of my allowance as a good-bye present like every job did? Let me see...did the manager say anything about the rest of it being paid off?
No.
Ulterior motives aside, where was the next flight back? Because I'd like a quick one to London if I became a multi-millionare from the time I stepped out of the airport to the time I set foot on whatever hotel we'd be occupying. Maybe, I would meet some mafia billionare on the run, and we'd fall in love and kiss on top of the Eiffel Tower. Then, he'd take me to his yacht where we'd spend the rest of our lives running from the government and CIA because we were reassuring our status as ultimate vagabonds of the shadows and everything that had to do with the underground life, or I could use the tunnel if the worst came to worst.
If not, I didn't want to push my head into a human-sized salami slicer.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
I squeezed my eyes shut and shook myself.
This was not the time to think about that.
When I was seconds away from being shot on the forehead, then that would probably be the best occupant for those thoughts because that was what everyone should revert to when a bullet was tolling its way into their cerebrum.
Absolutely- insert smiley face here, and we should be good to go.
"Sure," he said.
I felt the residual sting, even after I turned on my heels and glared defiantly at him. "What was that for?"
"You were oozing temporal brain damage," he said as if that was le naturel thing to do, walking off with the now moving crowd.
They must have shimmied their way out of their initial shock because almost everyone was lugging their baggages around in a rush to get to the hub, and was that a hippie in a clown suit?
I rubbed my fingers over my eyes and blinked with clandestine efforts so that I didn't appear like the blinkers on a headlight, similar to that of those old fashioned cars of the early 2000's where the blinkers would open up like a pair of eyelids. Actually, if I thought about it, the design was a tad uncomfortable per say because if I had that around, I would have a terrible time taking in the idea of a humanoid robot attacking my place by leaping up the roof and forging a hole in the ceiling like that was a move that all cars did.
But, yes, that was a hippie, and Mioun was being a hypocrite for leaving me here.
I was about to head out myself when I felt a hand wrap around my wrist, though not enough to close around completely.
For a second, I was convinced that it was a male supermodel from the pages of Dolce and Gabbana because models never did manual labor in their life, but when I spun on my toes, I was disappointed to find my neck craning down to look at the litte brat from earlier who was pointing skyward like an object was about to drop down from the heavens. A bird? A plane? No, this wasn't a song.
I tilted my head up, tracing the magical path he created.
I was beginning to think he had these special powers to downright convince people differently because, for a short moment, I was persuaded that his index finger shot a fiery laser beam, but what I found wasn't exactly that, though if he did have such convincing powers, I'd have given a medal for that.
In short, he was pointing directly at the luggage compartment, and I couldn't have felt anymore dumber.
I whipped my head around to tell the brat my gratitude, but because of his eccentric powers, he was gone from sight.
Now, I was half-convinced that he was an ethereal compound, not a human being, but as a miser for short-lived glee, later, while I was having trouble grabbing all the baggage from the conveyor belt, I saw him hand-in-hand with what must have been his parents. They were a man and woman with the same features. In fact, he was a split image of his father strangely so that it was frightening to even look at either of them in the eye. They had this peculiar incense of stranger danger that I couldn't completely shrug off and the eyes! There were so round and piercingly black, and great, my cell phone was out of battery, so I had to wait until one of them figured out that they abandoned me with a suitcase, a duffel bag, and a backpack.
Note to self, when Mioun packed, it was as if he packed an entire zoo because the thing weighed thrice the size I did, so when we decided to book another surprise trip, I would make sure to check if he stored away an anvil because it felt like he carried two of them in here, and that was why I was presently chasing the conveyer like my life depended on it, and good lord, I did not exercise that much since the time I was six and chased the ice cream truck because I wanted a popsicle stick on a weary summer consistent of smelly children and fatigued adults in their disheveled ties, or for the women, crumpled skirts.
Where have the days of sweat and miniature pools in the tiny apartment complex gone?
They were all resided in the back of my mind, waiting to be pulled out any day now, similar to today, where there was a chance that I would become a rotten tomato if no one wished to help me pull this monster of a bag from its impending doom.
A flash of red came between my vision, and I lost track of Mioun's horror, until I blinked and found myself staring straight at the black fabric of his pack...on the ground, landscape-style. What? How?
I blinked. Nope, I was dreaming.
"Vous cherchez quelqu'un?" Watching, no, looking...f-for someone?
Yup, I was definitely dreaming.
At first, I thought I was imagining things because, hey, I was the girl who thought a male model could ever talk to her.
I searched the crowd for the hidden camera men. Any signal would do, but when he asked the question twice, while looking directly into my eyes, and must I repeat, twice, I believed that I must have died then because this simply couldn't be happening, right?
I pinched myself.
Nope, I was awake.