Status: PROGRESSSS!!!
The Memoir of Irene Parsons
Blank Book
The bare light bulb over the kitchen table put out just enough light to be able to read most of her rather illegible handwriting. There was nobody at the table, only a “blank book“. The book itself was a feat of unimaginable craftsmanship. The black leather binding held intricate designs of various flowers and vines in an assortment of different colors and shades. The vines extended to the front and back covers, providing a brilliant contrast of the light and airy flowers and the black background.
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The apartment super held the eviction notice in his grimy hand, the other holding the keys to the apartment. This best way to avoid confrontation, he decided, would be to inconspicuously leave the paper on her table while she was gone. Although the super held himself on unnaturally high regards, he disliked handling people and their pathetic woes.
The door screamed in protest. Upon entering, an overbearing smell of mustiness and stuffiness made an acute assault on the man. His eyes watered and burned from the dust. “No wonder she’s never here…”
There was nothing in the small apartment, save for the table, chairs, and single bed that came standard with all the others. Not even a refrigerator or television was found. This was great for him, it wouldn’t take her very long to move out if there’s nothing to move. What was her name again, anyway?
He spied the lone table under the dim light and the book underneath it. Curious about the only object the soon-to-be- former tenant seemed to own, he opened the cover.
The inside cover read…
January 8th
In Loving Memory of Irene Parsons
“Some kinda biography?”
The first few pages contained nothing but some kind of mathematics, something the man could never wrap his mind around. Although he had no idea how this had anything to do with “Irene Parsons“, he didn’t care either. A man as important as he was, he thought, has other matters to worry about.
Giving a final, disgusted look around, he dropped the letter on the table next to the book, and left the apartment.
__________________________________
The apartment super held the eviction notice in his grimy hand, the other holding the keys to the apartment. This best way to avoid confrontation, he decided, would be to inconspicuously leave the paper on her table while she was gone. Although the super held himself on unnaturally high regards, he disliked handling people and their pathetic woes.
The door screamed in protest. Upon entering, an overbearing smell of mustiness and stuffiness made an acute assault on the man. His eyes watered and burned from the dust. “No wonder she’s never here…”
There was nothing in the small apartment, save for the table, chairs, and single bed that came standard with all the others. Not even a refrigerator or television was found. This was great for him, it wouldn’t take her very long to move out if there’s nothing to move. What was her name again, anyway?
He spied the lone table under the dim light and the book underneath it. Curious about the only object the soon-to-be- former tenant seemed to own, he opened the cover.
The inside cover read…
January 8th
In Loving Memory of Irene Parsons
“Some kinda biography?”
The first few pages contained nothing but some kind of mathematics, something the man could never wrap his mind around. Although he had no idea how this had anything to do with “Irene Parsons“, he didn’t care either. A man as important as he was, he thought, has other matters to worry about.
Giving a final, disgusted look around, he dropped the letter on the table next to the book, and left the apartment.
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