Paris Syndrome

• Claire Futterleib, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2014

Paris what an imaginary city...30000 feet up in the air and I was still day dreaming about the smell of Chanel no.5, parks filled with pigeons, waiters bursting into song at the drop of a hat and Parisians gorgeous, thin and unbelievably rich. BURRRR the low rumble of engines as the plane slowly came to a stop on the run way at Charles de Gaulle Airport. I couldn't see out the window because I was in a centre seat surrounded by annoying little children and their insensitive parents. My trip was already getting of to a good start...NOT! I could see the flight crew open the doors to the outside world and the eagerness was overwhelming that I toppled over a little old lady who was peacefully going about her own business.
WOOSH...The doors to of the plane opened and I felt a big disappointment because their was no smell of Chanel no.5 and everyone was rude and insensitive to me as I went to find a taxi looking down their nose's. As I found the taxi stand after about half an hour the line was a mile long and their was at least a 90 minute waiting time. My day had turned from bad to worse! While I was waiting in the line someone shoved me with force over to the ground, while they ran off with my luggage. "LIKE SERIOUSLY, are you kidding!" So now I am in Paris with no luggage, no taxi, bruised rib and breathing difficulties. Could my day get any worse?
Finally a taxi picked me up and on the way to the hospital to get my rib checked out I was taken through some back streets that seemed unsafe. I was correct about it being unsafe because as we turned into one particular back street, their were some suspicious people waiting on the corner. Next thing I noticed was that they were coming up to the car with baseball bats, knives and guns. I frantically searched for my credit card and ID and shoved them under my shirt. SMASH...The glass broke and they said "give us your purse". I couldn't do anything, I was surrounded. I held onto my bag but they snatched it from my tight grip and took off around the corner. The driver seemed unfazed, like it had happened to him before. I had no idea what to do, but all I was thinking that I needed to be safe again. I yelled at the driver to take me to the Australian embassy. After that I went into a blur, I thought I was seeing ghosts, I started feeling faint and then I collapsed. I woke up a week later and found myself being airlifted back to Australia on a plane. I asked the nurse what happened and she said "you have suffered from Paris..." I never heard the last word, but I knew that I would never be going back to Paris again.