Who Am I From Les Miserables Novels & Stories

(Madame Betty) “...Okay….”.(Jared) “Still not convinced?…Jared….me and my family are from, Georgina City…I lived there from my birth…until my husband died and my children grows….I know just how bad hearted the people there….only when I come here to new city that me and my family were able to live like a normal human being…like I said…there are many evil folks out there that are waiting like wolves…searching for opportunity to ruined everyone goo life…”.(Madame Betty)

Mable My Papa had been a transplant from a northern parish some years before he met my Mama who had been raised in coonass Cajun country. Papa loved her very much even though he didn’t agree with her “country superstitions,” he indulged her actions accepting them as “charitable deeds,” of a proper Christian woman. The “Red’s” as everyone called them were a strange lot of families that had grown together over the length of the family’s long history in the area. They didn’t take charity and were hard workin ole school Bayou folks. Mama’s kinda people.

“So, Oliver is from River District and has even mingled with people of the black market. No wonder George rejected her and confessed his love for Renea.” “He came from River town. She is not a good person. Where is she from? What kind of person did she raise?”

"The way you caught that glass. And the way you looked at me. It was... familiar." My heart began a frantic drum solo against my ribs. "I have... a very common face, Madame. Like a potato, as I said." "No," she said, now standing just three feet away. "It’s not the face. It’s the energy. And your accent... it’s changing. Last night you sounded like you were from Lyon. This morning, you sound like you’re from a pirate movie." "I am... from ze coast!" I blurted out. "Ze salt air! It affects ze vocal cords!"

“I—I’m on my way to Plymouth to settle my father’s affairs.” “Where are you from?” “I’m from Marseille, France. I arrived only just this morning.” “Why would any father send his daughter across the sea during turbulent times such as these?” “My father didn’t send me. He’s dead, if you must know.” “I see.” His gaze swept over her again as his finger smoothed across his thick, black mustache. “Tell me, Miss Stanley. How long ago did your father die?” She hesitated, knowing she couldn’t tell him the truth. “Just a few months past, Sir.”

Maya replied, saying the last part a little quieter, but the disdain was still evident in her tone. “Then what are you still doing here? By the way, you have a cute accent. Where are you from?” She said. This lady looks silly. She animatedly talks as she keeps waving her hand, but she does not look so bad. Maya couldn’t help but put more interest in their conversation and the woman herself. Maya was sure she never met anyone quite like her. “I’m from Paris. Well, I was born in the US, but then after a while, I went to France. I guess that’s what the accent is from,” She said softly, hoping for no discrimination.

“So, where are you from, if I may ask? I hope I’m not being too nosy, but you intrigue me.” I laugh, not feeling awkward about his curiosity. Despite his clear wealth and power, he seems genuine and friendly. Besides, he’s probably in his fifties or sixties, so it doesn’t feel romantic. “Well, I’m just a stubborn, clumsy girl from East Side Orphanage.” He almost chokes on his spit, stopping mid-step. “What? East Side Orphanage? Are you serious?” “Yes,” I reply, frowning at his reaction. “I grew up at East Side Orphanage. Do you know it?”

“Can we go there?” “No, it will be the first place that Tarian looks for us. If we go there, we may as well just turn ourselves in.” he said, an anger in his voice that she didn’t understand; horrified that she had done something to anger him. She seemed to be good at that.” “I see.” “What about you? Where do you come from?” “The swamps of Lacus, that is where I was raised. Though now we are banished from there.” “Banished?”

I was a loner and I won’t talk unless spoken to or if I have the need to. “Where are you from, Pierre?” “Oh, I am from the manor sir. My parents are stable hands.” “I see.” “Are you sure you are alright, sir? You look pale..you seem distracted too...if I may...” Sour. I turned sour. It was always a bad idea to talk to people. This fellow is a chatterbox who, once asked, will keep on talking unless halted. This retrieval operation sucks even before it begun. No wonder my father had entrusted this bloke---he is from the Red manor. The people hailing from the manor are very loyal to Henry and I do not understand why.

Cassar gave me a weird look, not understanding. "I said, born and raised in Mexico. I swear." I translated for the knuckle head. He kept the jar away from me. His eyes unblinking. "You're not from Mexico." It was a joke, I obviously wasn't born and raised in Mexico, but still I cried in agony over my peanut butter. He still didn't submit. "Fine," I huffed giving in. "I'm from Uganda, Africa." Cassar came closer to me, his face directly in front of mine. A teasing smile on his lips. "Now Vienna, do we have to have a chat about lying?"