I wanted to let the signals guide me. How could I feel so neglected after living such a self indulgent life. A short list of itinerary; (1) Get up at 7am stretch yawn eat a small breakfast, (2) around 8am – 9am hop into my luxury sedan and drive the very lax fifteen minutes to work. (3) 930am-10am walk into my highly over the top office on the bottom floor. (4) All of the things that I use to say kiss my ass.
As I prepare to tell another a**hole to pucker up, I can see the tension lines in their face. The small pock marks on their skin that did not look craterish but more like scarring from a bad burn. The acrid look of the clothes and his hair almost made me laugh. I did not, my high salary would not allow it nor would my personality. I backed away from my desk to give a greeting to this person who had just entered my office. No words left his lips as he cleared his throat and looked me in the eye. Startled and not annoyed I took the letter and opened it, not remembering when he handed it to me or how he left.
A message written directly to me and written in non descript hand writing. Not cursive but regular stationary words. Surprised that the letter spoke of some of the things around me. Directions that described other directions, bored with the handwriting and not the game of cat and mouse. I wondered if it would make sense to call the cops. My luxury sedan would easily take me to the nearest station. I decided to tease myself with the notion. “No” I want to see whats behind the curtain. I followed directions.
Letting my hands grip the wheel I turned onto a familiar street, I had followed the letters directions only to end up in a place that I had seen many times prior. Not one to linger I felt that the senseless act of “following” would not have made me who I was. But I wanted to follow the signals.
My turn onto this familiar street had not dulled my intentions. If anything they only increased my want for “something” My lack of boredom with the situation let my mind drift. “following” the short list of itinerary and possibly adding a thing or two.
I watched as the familiar pock marked face showed on the news. “found dead at the scene” was how they put it. When asked if any witnesses saw anything most said they saw nothing. With my mouth shut I watched as a person described a person cruising the neighbor hood in a luxury sedan. No one laughed…
My car was not shown but I knew that the closeness of the subject matched to well. I wanted to follow the signals.
I began receiving phone calls shortly after “ the news” I remember not having paid attention to how long I had spoken with the anonymous caller. I remember the strange sense of nothingness, I remember being late to work and not remembering why. My short list of itinerary had become something else. “I was not a follower” not then….
My life never unraveled after the changes it kind of just went as usual. The comings and goings of traffic. My on and off again itinerary, my life never really changed, so I continued to look for the signals.
The draft of air inside the room made the night cold but welcoming. The man or figure outside my home was almost belonging. I could see that they wanted to know if I kept correspondence. I had I knew had would get the signal
“There was no sign of force entry they said” Police scouring looking for the clues to the grisly murder. The luxury sedan still parked in the drive way. It had taken months to find the body the only clues being the letters people thought were being answered. “A slaughter” They would call it almost ritualistic. Looking clues as to how this could happen and all they could find was a short itinerary.
No one noticed as the Sedan pulled into the yard…
She did not remember how long they had spoken, this man with the horrible scars.
She did not like the way he smelled, she did not know why she let them in
She only wanted to read the messages….
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