Personal Narrative: Armande's Gift

It was the day of the festival when it all began, when the woman came to Lansquenet. She blew in on a northerly breeze like an unidentifiable scent from far away, Vianne was her name. At once she was an outsider, and at once I was intrigued. I’d never seen a woman quite like her, and although it wasn’t just her appearance, her long tumbling hair and vibrant clothing did nothing to divert the gaze of the people, constantly yearning for someone new to gossip about. I felt something different about the way she moved, like she was free. I wished I was free too. I wish I could have spoken to her then, but I think I would’ve probably stuttered and made an idiot of myself, I always do. The festival’s silly really, a bunch of people trying to fool

I keep it safely hidden from maman in a shoebox, under a lumpy scarf at the back of my cupboard, tattered and worn in all its glory despite the care I take with it. It’s not much, just a ratty old book of poetry I suppose, but I love Armande’s gift more than any of the glossy history books that have been thrust upon me over the years. Many nights of my life I have spent hunched over it, the words imprinting on my mind. I remember when I was ten years old I would hide under my covers night after night with a torch, and it was in that position I read it cover to cover many times over. Each time I considered the taste of the beautiful words in my mouth, knowing I could never tell Armande, or anyone else, I had to keep them all to myself however much I wanted someone to enjoy the words with me. Good old Caro would have kittens at the mere thought of such

I want to see things, meet people, be someone, someone else than who I’ve always been shaped to be. My entire life I’ve been trimmed neatly down to size, voiceless and impersonable, shaped to fit the mould this town has cut out for me. No more than a pawn in their game that has lasted for generations, and it’s only now I’ve realised. Of course it’s not just me either. And why? A sad town full of sad people who hide here because they can’t handle it in the real world. I’m terrified this is what the future holds for