Dans la nuit

The reverberating tapping sound emanating from her black shiny boots hitting the uneven concrete were masked by the rush of bodies running beside her into the depths of the métro. Swiping the plastic Navigo across the grey, metal box, attention repeats aggressively as she hears the squealing of the train against the rails and glides towards the platform. Springing into the cart, distressed faces surround her and the soft accordion music fills the static air, yielding comfort amongst the confusion. Counting the interminable minutes instead of stops, a line forms at the door when « Saint-Michel Notre Dame » appears. Uniformly processing out of the double doors, each person containing their fear, followed a leader in hopes that the textos they received were hoaxes. Expecting to feel the gentle April breeze embrace her as it had before, her face was greeted with a clouding, wood burnt smell and the cries of frightened parisiens. Gripping the concrete barrier along the seine, trying to conceptualize the blazing 800-year-old structure, goosebumps crept against her skin. In unison, the French hymns echoed as flames ascended into the no longer cotton candy sky and the silent chaos diffused.