They had left a note on the table. A little, brown, unimportant-looking note of that type you usually overlook. But they had left it. So it couldn't just be anything, could it? I mean, it's not like I just leave small, brown, unimportant notes around my apartment, you know. So it had to be them. But why would they leave it there? It didn't say anything too, which was the weird part; why leave a note that didn't say anything? Why leave some blank emptiness that just confused more than did anything else? I suppose that could have been their intention, after all, but I was a little too stubborn and angry to believe that. You don't just go into someone's apartment and leave a small, brown, unimportant note without it having meaning. It had to mean something. Because, you know, really, it's all about what's left there after such an occasion. You scrape and you search and you count until you are 100% sure that everything that is gone is gone, and then you damn them all to hell. Damn them all indeed. And their brown stupid note.
I almost tore it apart the other day, too, but luckily I managed to spot it there, among the trash on the floor, just before I wiped it all up. So I neatly picked it up, checked again that yes, it had nothing on it, and put it back on the center of the table, where nothing else laid. That was the spot they had put it—maybe the placement was important?
Argh, maybe not. My computer had been there, now it wasn't, so whatever, right? Maybe it was just there instead—an exchange, albeit not exactly a fair one.
I wondered sometimes if they had meant to write something on it, but just forgot, or didn't have the time. But I was long gone back then, didn't come home for weeks, I doubt they felt they had to rush. I asked the neighbors after it happened, but they all said they didn't hear anything. Which I don't really believe—how do you not hear a television being carried down the stairs?
And of course, no one cares about the note. "That's just a note, so? Maybe it fell out of their pockets?" No, no, no. It is a little, brown, unimportant-looking note. It didn't just fall out and land on my table. They wanted something with that, just before they took my computer and walked out into the night.
I know it.
This was actually my first piece in my two-day challenge thing, and I feel like it's okay. A little trite perhaps and maybe also slightly too repetitive (even thought that's a little the point), but I feel the hook is pretty subtle (Or is it? Hard to tell). I also just really like stories about people that are kind of messy mentally, and this guy's definitely got something weird going on, which I like.