Pour Moi A must read, a riveting story by one of the

top authors today,Iga Lis.” – Paris Now

For Pola –

May your inconveniences

no longer linger in my life

Hoofing it down the graphite stairs of the Paris Metro,I felt the wind rushing

through my sandy hair. It was held from the back by a turquoise clip. My

sneakers brushed their soles against the solid rock. The footing made an irritating

sound. I felt the gloomy faces of Parisians glazing at mine. I was on the verge of

collapsing after the exhausting 15k walk through the charming streets of Paris

yesterday. I felt my eyelids dropping down as if s heavy rocks would be placed

on top of them. Our plan for today was to visit La Basilique du Sacre Coeur,

Centre Georges-Pompidou and Musee d’Orsay. The destination as of now was

the basilique.

My sister Pola, and dad briskly skipped in front of me, glancing back every

now and then to see if I was keeping up. After buying the tickets, we stepped

into an oval tunnel. French classical music echoed between the walls. When we

got out of the “tube”, we exited onto the right and sat down on orange, plastic

seats. Chopin still faintly played in the back. The “Polish” vibe ran through me.

When we settled down on the seats, I pulled out my iPhone from the

„petite‟ skirt pocket and clicked the settings button to search for WiFI. I thought

deeply biting my lower lip. There was no signal, so I stood up and paused next to

a Cafe. I jerked the iphone up so it would catch the signal, and like salvation

there it was right on my screen: “Stop By Cafe Free Public WiFi”. I stole a glance

to the left to see my dad and sister who still, patiently sat on the chairs

hypnotized, staring at the train tracks. I loaded my Instagram to see the blue bar

appearing which indicated that a photo was about to load. The bar was pulled

to the middle. I felt my hair being rushed by wind. I looked up just in time to hear

the alarming hiss of the subway.

“Iga, rush down here right now!” My dad commanded with irritation in his

voice, and an unpleasant look that I knew just so perfectly. He was already

standing. He let out a bubble of air, puffing his cheeks out, and tapping his

hands against his jeans in irritation.

“Just one minute dad, I‟ll be right there!” I mumbled, putting my hand

forward and shaking it like a rattle to motion: I‟ll be right there! Actually, I was still

captivated by the screen.

“Iga, don‟t let dad repeat himself!” my selfish sister mocked, standing

behind dad with her hand on her hip. She smiled her most sarcastic smile, and

then grit her teeth together. The most dishonest, fake emotion I had ever seen.

What a selfish creature. I grinned at her in disbelief. She would do anything to

make our parents stand on her side.

The train harshly stopped, letting out a squeal. The glass doors opened

letting out an anthill of people to sprint down. I looked down at my screen to

see all Instagram pictures loaded. I scrolled down and patiently examined all of

the images my followers recently posted. I looked up to see the glass doors

closing on my families displeased faces. They looked at me through the glass in

disbelief and anger.

I was left alone. My world blackened, i couldn‟t let a word out of myself. It

felt as if someone stuffed chunks of paper into my throat. Petite fille se retrouve

seule, as the French would say. That meant I was left alone.. The life in front of

me played like movie on fast forward, but I stood still like a paused scene. An

anxiety attack! I thought to myself. My face stiffened, as I let out of myself a serie

of deep breaths. I closed my eyes tightly, my left hands fingers digging into my

skin, my right hand, still gripping onto my phone with the loaded instagram

page. My eyes were damp, the tears were overflowing. I felt like screaming my

lungs out. Before I could collect myself, like de ja vu there the subway was in

front of me, the whistle it let out when stopping, piercing through my sensitive

ears.

Pulling my shoulders up, I confidently stepped into the transport. My hand

reached up, grabbing the plastic handle. The hooting sound repeated, so the

doors once again rapidly closed. As it departed, the public flopped forward,

moved by the forceful start. It turned, and twisted like a river current. After a

minute, from the pitch black, lights appeared, litting up the walls of graffiti. We

evacuated from the tunnel and settled in the subway stop. I hopped out and

just at the yellow “warning” line stopped. I glanced left and right losing my

confidence again. A hand touched my shoulder. I turned back. Oh heck no.

Was this the familiar and gentle hand of my dad, a filthy hand of a stalker, or a

delicate palm of an old person wanting to assist me? As I turned around, I could

feel my body being pulled into a huge hug. Dad‟s big hand petted my hair. As I

pulled back, I could see the worried, yet thankful expression of dad.

“Thank god you‟re here! Pola and I were scared to the bits! Never do

anything like this again,” from a warm smile, his expression transformed into a

solemn look.

“As adults, we taught you a lesson. Maybe your gunna‟ learn when to

listen to wiser people,” she snapped.

“You‟re fifteen?” I questioned with hesitation.

“Same thing. So much smarter than you. Daddy, let‟s go I‟m hungry!” she

stomped.

Here we go again. I sighed.

If you are a drudge, try getting through, do something spectacular and

breathtaking! Stand up, look ahead, take a risk and remember: don’t let

anything stop you. Who knows, maybe peoples outlook on you will change.

Although my sister didn‟t acknowledge the fact that I have accomplished

something mind-blowing,I felt that my life was utterly accomplished. I was the

youngest sister, but definitely the bravest one. The most important thing in life is

to feel good with yourself. Isn‟t that what it‟s all about? Everything else will

come naturally.

“It pulls you in, and never

let’s go.” – New York Times

I was left alone. My world

blackened, i couldn’t let a word

out of myself. It felt as if

someone stuffed chunks of paper

into my throat.

About the author: A successful young

adult lived and

raised in Warsaw,

now one of the top

50 most successful

authors in Europe.