This is a story I began writing last night. I finally finished it, and now I'm going to move on to today's story.
This brings me to 27,735 words so far.
Tabitha dropped the mail in a pile on the kitchen table. There was so much to do this evening she'd barely had the time to grab it from the mailbox on her way in the door. She opened the fridge door, grabbed a sandwich she'd made earlier, and turned around leaving the house as quickly as she'd come in.
It was very late when she came home. She dropped her purse and coat on a chair, and poured herself a glass of milk. She ran upstairs focussed on the book she'd almost finished the night before, and after polishing it off she went straight to bed.
The next morning a newspaper joined the pile of mail, tossed haphazardly as Tabitha ran out the door on her way to work.
This pattern continued through the week, a new habit that the long hours and the daily co mmute forced on the usual routine.
By Saturday morning, the pile of paper on the table had grown to epic proportions. even if Tabitha just wanted to find the sports sectoin from Wednesday to see how the big game went, she'd have to undertake a massive excavation.
She started the coffee percolating, and sat down to sort the mass of paper into piles. She hooked her foot around the blue bin, hauling it closer to the table. Junk mail went straight into the bin, bills and other letters went to the right of the table, and the newspapers went to the left.
The pile was slightly smaller.
Next came sorting the sections of the newspapers. The news she was already up to date on, except for this morning's paper. Business was useless, and she had no need of classifieds.
That knocked it down to something a bit more manageable.
Tabitha stood, kicking the blue box out of the way, and poured herself a cup of coffee. She stood staring at the table for a bit longer, trying to figure out the most efficient way of clearing the rest of it off.
She started with what was left of the papers. It was Saturday, so she started with the comics of today's paper, and then moved to sports. After those were done and tossed over to the bin, she finished the rest of the Saturday news.
It took two more cups of coffee to work her way back through the week, reading the opinion pieces she was most interested in, the daily comics, and the sports pages. Finally she was seeing a decent commentary on the game. She devoured it like a starving person who hadn't seen food in a week. Section by section, the papers sailed across the room to bounce off the recycling box.
Stomach growling, Tabitha realised that she was very hungry. She'd been awake for two hours already, so that shouldn't have been a surprise. She washed the newsprint off her hands, considering various options for food. Remembering that she had some eggs and potoates that needed using, she decided on hash browns and scrambled eggs, and set to work prepping and cooking.
With a steaming plate of food ready, Tabitha poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down to tackle eating and going through the bills. Food took precedence at first, and most of the plate was cleaned off before she reached for the first of the letters.
It was a bill from the hydro company, She set it aside to pay it later.
Several other bills followed, and two cleverly disguised ads. This was going to require more coffee. Tabitha was well on her way to not sleeping for the next three days.
At the bottom of the pile was a plain yellow envelope. Not your typical kraft paper, it was more of a lemon yellow. A cheerful colour, really. Tabitha flipped it around in her hands a few times. No return address. The cancellation mark on the stamp was smudged and illegible. The address on the front was printed in a block hand, and was definitely her current address.
The name on the envelope was "Peter Smales".
Tabitha didn't know any Peter Smales. The previous occupant of this apartment had been a little old Hungarian lady named Margit Halasz. Over the years there had been mail from a variety of names, but Peter Smales was a new one.
There really wasn't anything she could do with the letter. There was no way to trace its sender back, as the sender hadn't left any information. The print was as plain and ordinary as anything she'd seen in grade school, and was probably still used by millions of adults everywhere.
Probably the best she could do is see if she could trace the addressee down. Tabitha opened a drawer close to the phone, and pulle dout her laptop. She booted it up, and surfed to Google. In the search bar she entered "Peter Smales", and waited to see what it pulled up.
It pulled up a lot, actually. It shouldn't have been a surprise that the name was common. Peter was pretty standard everywhere, and Smales wasn't that unusual sounding. Tabitha tapped her finger against the edge of the laptop monitor a few times, and added the name of the city for good measure. It still didn't narrow things down. If this man had lived here years and years ago, he could be on a different continent by now.
With the computer open, Tabitha really had no reason to not pay the bills that sat neatly stacked beside her. She set the yellow envelope behind the computer, and started dealing with payments. Every once in a while she'd move so she could see the envelope, and try to decide what she was going to do with it. She had no idea, so she left it there after she was done, when she went to file the bills in the cabinet in the other room.
After clearing up from breakfast, Tabitha got ready for her day. She had a big afternoon planned with her friend Sally. Soon the letter was put out of her mind as she headed out for a day of shopping in the city.
It was a perfect day for it. Tabitha sat on the subway, staring out the windows into the sun and warmth on the outdoor sections that had appeared after several weeks of rain and dull clouds. It was moments like this that reminded Tabitha why'd she'd moved here in the first place. The weather could be absolutely amazing, and most of the city had been built to take advantage of this.
She and Sally had a great time shopping and spending time together. Tabitha was sorry to see it end, and she rode the subway back home. She got home, and was juggling bags to try and get her keys when she elbowed the door by accident. The door swung inwards.
Very strange. Tabitha always locked the door behind her, the habit of years living in a dorm that was prone to thieves and pranksters. It was so much a habit that she occasionally locked herself out when she stepped out to take the garbage to the bins. She knew for a fact that she'd never leave this door open, and she stared into her apartment with confusion.
Tabitha stood on the threshold and debated what to do. She decided to set her bags down, and pull out her cell, phoning the building's security guard to come up and take a look. he advised her to move down the hall a bit, and not interfere if anyone came out. He'd be up in a moment, and was hitting elevator buttons as they were speaking.
It seemed forever that Tabitha stood there, staring at the open door to her own home and wondering why anyone would break in. She had the computer, and a couple of pieces of good jewelry, and that was about it. Someone else might not know that, but at least she would know that not much would be lost in the attempt.
The security guard, Derek, a young man with a large smile and a great sense of community in the building. He wasn't smiling right now, he was serious and all business. He gave Tabitha strict instructions to stay where she was, as he drew a gun and carefully and slowly entered her apartment.
He seemedot be gone forever, but it was likely only a few minutes. He came back into the hall with his trademark smile, and waved her in.
"There's no one here," he said, "and as far as I can tell the place is ok. Can you do a quick look and see if anythign has been disturbed? I don't know if it;s a case of the door popping open, or if we should clal the police otherwise. Just don't touch anything."
They wandered around the apartment. It didn't look like anythign was moved, but Tabitha kept everythign in drawers and cabinets. Derek grabbed the tea towel from where it hung on the stove door, and they carefully opened drawers and doors to verify nothing had happened.
"Perhaps," Tabitha finally conceded, "perhaps I didn't shut the door completely. Everything is here, it doesn't look like anyone was in the place at all."
Derek nodded, and went to check the door. The lock was pronounced fine, and nothing looked to be damaged on the door or the frame.
"Still," he said, "it owuld be a good idea to make sure the door is chained and the windows are wedged shut, just for tonight. I will talk tot he manager about re-keying the locks in the morning. If anything else happens, if you notice anything missing or see anything odd, call me. I'm on duty all night."
Tabitha smiled and thanked him for his help. Once he had left, she did as he'd instructed, and then did another check of the entire apartment, slowly going over everything to make sure it was all as she'd left it. Deciding that everything of value was still in place, she changed into her pyjamas and went to bed.
The next morning dawned bright and cold. Tabitha dressed quickly to ward off the chill, and headed into the kitchen for breakfast. She made herself some breakfast, and coffee, and pulled out her laptop to do some work.
As she sat at the table, typing away, something began to nag at her. She kept looking at hte table as if she meant to see somethign that just wasn't there. It kept nagging at her, for an hour, and finally she closed the lid on her laptop. Tabitha stood up, and wandered around, opening drawers, and checking the tabletop again and again.
She went through what she'd done yesterday before leaving and suddenly remembered what was different. Tabitha grabbed her recycle bin, and started rooting through it, looking for a single yellow envelope, and not finding it. She checked under the counter, in the cabinets, and even in a couple of the drawers.
The letter to Peter Smales was gone.
Tabitha had left it ont he table when she went out yesterday, and she'd never quite gotten around to figuring out what to do with it.
It looked like she wouldn't have to worry about it any more. The letter was good and gone.
A few days later, she started looking for a new apartment.
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