writting

Sleepless, I decided to do something. I needed answers. I started searching the house, methodically, desperately. I found a locked drawer in the study. After a few minutes of fiddling, I managed to pick the lock. Inside, there was a small box.

Sitting on the bus on my way home, I pondered the day. The bus was packed with people, jostling and chatting. The engine roared and the brakes squeaked. In the seat, I couldn’t remember anything. The bus pulled up to my stop, and I got off.