La Lune de Fleurs

Chapter 1 - April Showers

France.

Of all choices my parents have made in my life, this was by far the most irrational and the most outlandish.

My parental figures, entrepreneurs and quite independent on their own believe that, at the age of 13, I should ideally be studying abroad, despite still attending grade school. Though this is quite obviously absurd in all ways possible, my parents are known to be blinded by their own hubris, believing that their perfect daughter needs the most prestigious schooling within range of their overly-abundant salaries. Though I am glad that my parents hope for the best for me in my future, I think that their advances are quite excessive.

However, despite this trip being centered around my benefit, neither my parents nor anyone associated with my trip have shared any details of the trip with me. Where will I be staying? What school will I be going to? How long will I be there? None of these details have made themselves evident during the planning of my travel. But, personally, I believe that I should try to extract this information from my parents within the next few hours, as my trip is to begin shortly, in around two hours. I had been stalling profusely on asking my parents for details, despite the fact that there would be no reason for them to withhold any information about the trip from me. Hence, hoping for the best, I strived forward through the elaborate and many corridors located within my parent's large house. In my much younger years, I recall that my life was much more bleak, far too grey in comparison to the supposedly more colorful life I have now, or at least according to my parents. Back then, my family lived in a smaller apartment building in a less than stellar neighborhood. My parents ran a small cleaning company which was only known to the residents of this tight-knit community within the apartment complex, and hence, they weren't getting many sales. But even so, my parents were seemingly more lively, at that time. They truly loved and appreciated everything they had at the time, even though they barely had enough funds to keep us living within such a small location. But now, after their company began to grow and grow more, it's as if they've become more cold, distant. As if all emotion had suddenly been drained from them as their success became more prominent within the neighbourhood, then the city, the province, the country, and soon enough, worldwide. Because of this, though I knew there was no reason to disclude any vital information from me, I had worried that I would somehow be manipulated, as they've become manipulators, compulsive liars. However, these intrusive thoughts came to a sudden halt when I realized that I was at the end of the stairway, and around the corner was where I would ask my parents for minimal information. Nervously, I approached.

The first thing that I had noticed about them as soon as I had turned the corner was that they had a seemingly smug look, sinister smiles. As if they had anticipated that I would be standing before them in that exact place, at that exact time. But far worse, in my opinion, was when I made eye contact with both of them. It wasn't a cold look, but it wasn't particularly welcoming either. But while I had been trying to read their expressions, I had realized all too late that my mother was speaking. Realizing this, I snapped back up quickly, begging her pardon.

"Sorry, Mom," I stammered. "Could you repeat that?"

"Oh, Natalia. You always seem to be daydreaming or disassociating whenever you're supposed to be taking in information. Is this why you perform so poorly in school nowadays?"

I could almost instantly detect the malice in her voice, as if it were a sour smell or putrid slime, worsening with every word that came out of her mouth. She was known to seem passive to those who approach her, but she often mentally manipulates those who she wants to feel superior over, forcing those who are unexpecting to face a guilt trip of a lifetime. At this point, I had wished that I had never left my room to ask about my trip, as I could sense the tension rising in the room every second. My father chose to interject into the conversation.