What's this! I'm writing a new book! Yes I am, or really it'll be another attempt at a book. I have high hopes for this one, my other ones that I've tried are all about fantasy world, describing things that are in my head, but this time I'm going to a completely different angle. A story about a hobby Private Investigator, who is out to find the answers behind a mysterious letter. THOUGHTS, COMMENTS AND CRITICISMS WELCOMED AND ENCOURAGED. FOR A LIMITED TIME OFFER, IF YOU GIVE GOOD, CONSTRUCTIVE AND THOUGHT OUT FEEDBACK, I WILL GIVE YOU AN 8 LINE PERSONALIZED POEM WRITTEN BY ME TO YOU.
A room dimly tainted by a curious light, illuminating nothing but small cobwebs, dusty books and a large, rectangular table. A room that’s surrounded by black, juxtaposed with the eerie white centred on the table. This origin of eerie brightness comes from the complete reflection of all visible light in the universe, an elongated rectangular structure that is microscopically shaped to appear the colour of that eerie whiteness. It is a piece of paper. But the paper itself is not what causes this delving thought of curiosity and interest that beseeches me and motivates me to communicate my findings. No, it is the dialect that is scribbled in grey, graphite shards on the paper. It is the contents of what is on the paper, the thoughts that the paper must express unto our world, it is the writing on this paper that sparks my interest so.
“There has been a murder, find Saltnight Plaza.” That was what was written on the paper in scratchy, curly pencil markings, a murder connected to a location that was only vaguely familiar to me. A great unknown tragedy had befallen some unlucky individual in some unlucky place at some unlucky time. But who was the individual? Where was the place? When was the time? Murders happen consistently throughout all of history, thousands every year fall victim to someone else’s sword. So why then does this vague message give me such interest?
Perhaps the amount of questions this paper is generating is what interests me, this paper even made me question my own questioning! But I question a lot of things; it is the nature of my work, so I do not believe this is where the interest lies. Perhaps the unusual property of the letter being so vague and yet so specific at the same time is what sparks this flame of wanting. Or perhaps the circumstances of the letter is what interests me so, the fact that I found it tucked under my front door, that it was written in a handwriting I somehow recognize and that it was calling out to me to investigate the ultimate mystery it foretells. But no, no, no, I know why this interests me; it is the same with every circumstance in life such as this. It is a puzzle, a riddle, a mystery, something that has an answer at the end of the tunnel, something that needs to be solved. That is where the interest lies; it lies in its unknown answer and my will and need to unravel it. I know not where this murder happened, but I will find out. I know not who was involved in the murder, but I will find out. And I know not when this murder occurred, but I will find out for I am me, a puzzle solver.
I was sitting on a sturdy chair next to that rectangular table, legs firmly planted on the ground, pouring over in such glee at the welcome sight of such an interesting letter. The letter had given me but one command, “find Saltnight Plaza”, I was familiar with this place. It was the name of a large, old shopping centre across town, above it was a towering brick apartment building that contained hundreds of housing commission flats. I did not know what this letter wanted me to do there, maybe there is something I need to see or maybe the murder happened here, I had to find out. I got up from the sturdy wood chair and I walked across the dimly lit room to an old mouldy wardrobe that contained my clothes. I put my hand across the rotted door of the wardrobe and forced it open; revealing an old, cream trench coat that above its left pocket had inscribed “P.I.”.
P.I., it was “Private Investigator”, a puzzle solver, someone who unravelled mysteries that were thought to be impossible to unravel. That was how I spent my time, unravelling the many secrets, both big and small, that the universe had in store for me. But do not be confused dear reader, it wasn’t my occupation for I didn’t do it for the money and I didn’t charge a cent for any of my services. For me a mystery is a gift. It is a present that is supplied to you on a cosy Christmas Eve that’s wrapped in glittering style. The gift inside the package is unknown but your mind guesses its contents, it cycles through all your earthly desires and tries to pinpoint which one of these extravagant objects could be safely nestled in the confines of this celebratory box. As you claw at the gift wrapping, tearing it open bit by bit, you get more and more anxious and your mind wonders more and more getting more and more extraordinary ideas on what could be in this box. But it is only when you finally open the box that you see the true contents and in almost all scenarios the contents are disappointing, but that won’t ever stop you from being eager for the next Christmas every year. So is a mystery to me, the joy of finding out and having your mind wander as you get closer and closer, the feeling is ecstasy. It is why I must solve this letter and it is why I am off to Saltnight Plaza.
So I dressed myself in the old, cream trench coat and walked eagerly across the bending, wooden floorboards that were beneath my feet. I left the old dreary apartment to investigate this tantalizing mystery that had its origin in Saltnight Plaza. I checked the front, left pocket of my trench coat for any loose change, for bus travel, and in it I found a scrunched up $20 bill amongst a sea of pocket lint. And as I walked down the hallway of the apartment block in which most of my time occupied my mind began to wonder, imagining what lay before me in this surely exciting adventure. What would I discover? I imagined finding a homeless man slumped across the side of the shopping mall, sitting near a jar of piss and bile that remained his only true companion. And I imagined the bustling people that walked by him, minds filled with a cloud of products and sales, too important to notice the poor man starving to death at their feet. I went through thousands of simulations like this, all the way from exiting the run-down apartment building that was my home to the last stop on the public bus that led me straight to destiny’s Saltnight Plaza. Yet, no matter how many simulations that looped in my mind day in and day out, nothing I think is truth or accurate to what is reality; so I must be here in Saltnight Plaza, to find that reality.
Chapter 2:
As I got off the public bus in Saltnight Plaza, I was greeted with only a fraction of the community I had imagined in my mind. I saw little more than four busy shoppers simply walking aimlessly around, as if wanting to buy a new product but not quite sure what they even need anymore. I walked across the small shopping centre and saw tags that encouraged purchase and signs that are built to stupefy. I saw lottery tickets that promised wealth, while simultaneously taking it away in its purchase; I always thought the irony in lottery tickets was funny. A willing sacrifice for moderate living in hopes for an extravagant one, like a man cutting off his hand in hopes that he will become unbreakable.
I was passing by one of the four busy shoppers; he was young and had short scruffy brown hair and wore quite a large, thick coat, possibly due to the chilly morning air that was surrounding us. Ah, perhaps the time explains this lack of activity, it was only a few minutes passed nine in the morning, and most of the shoppers were still at home slumbered in their large houses, or possibly preparing a meal or currently arriving for their professional occupations. The shopper was less than half a metre away and I began to realize something, if a murder had occurred in this place surely these people would have noticed something odd. Perhaps I could garnish some information on my surroundings through these people. So as the shopper and I were almost shoulder to shoulder, I glared in his direction and said…
“Excuse me sir, may I have a minute of your time?” when I had finished my sentence, he looked at me inquisitively as if I had disturbed his precious time of wandering aimlessly.
“Uh, sure, if it’s only a minute or two, what’s up?” said the shopper, in a youthful yet bland voice.
“I was wondering if you have noticed anything out of the ordinary here. I had a tip from a client of mine that there had been some unwanted criminal activity in this area, so if you have noticed anything strange around the mall it would be a real help if you could fill me in.” I stated, not willing to give up the full extent of my reasons for being here.
The youthful shopper tilted his head slightly, perhaps perplexed at my line of reasoning or my choice of vocabulary. “Huh? No… No, I haven’t noticed anything strange… but it is pretty early, maybe try asking someone else.” He concluded that uninforming line of thought by stepping forward and away from me, continuing his circuit of aimless consumption. He walked on, but not without giving one final word to fill his mind with ease for not being able to solve my neglected question, he apologized.
Well, there were many people to ask, many perspectives to gain, many informants to inform. I spent the better half of the day talking to people about the activities of the shopping mall. I talked to young girls and old women, penny shoppers and big spenders, the nice and the not so nice. I asked and asked about any strange occurrences that any of them have observed and they told and told about how everything seemed what they would define as normal. It was no less than three and half an hours later that I began to lose hope of any connection with the proposed murder on the ingenious letter. But in my line of curiosity, I had perked the interests of a noble stranger who like a mouse stayed in the shadows to only advance at the most unexpected of times. And thanks to this stranger, after three and a half hours of wasted questions, I got my answer.
Topic: Puzzle Solver (People who give feedback will be given a personalized poem!) (Read 1193 times)