Читать книгу Identity - Jeff MDiv Sieniewicz - Страница 7

Frank quickly moved up the steps to his apartment, holding the collar of his too thinly knitted jacket tightly to his neck. On one of his neighbor’s doorsteps he noticed a large stack of newspapers. The top few pages whipped back and forth in the wind and he could see the date on the top page. It showed that it was February tenth, and the weather certainly agreed.

Feeling the cool evening air on his face now, the majority of Frank went sweeping past the corner of his apartment building closest to his door. His foot meanwhile made an abrupt stop, slamming stiffly against an object rather more solid than itself.

Frank glanced down toward the unknown obstruction and his now numbed foot. The former appeared to be a rock roughly two feet in diameter that also had a yellowish tinge to it.

Quite an odd glowing quality Frank thought as he stared down at it, as a few sprinkles of rain splashed on his face. The rain the weatherman had called for had started early.

Frank shook his head, as work had gotten the best of him again. Here he was standing outside, as it was starting to rain, staring at a rock of all things. Perhaps he should take up his manager’s advice and take one of his many unused vacation days.

Before he could tally just how many he had now accumulated over years of never taking one, he hurried inside, but not until scooping up the glowing rock.

Once inside, Frank set the aforementioned rock harmlessly to the floor in the corner nearest the door, not even knowing exactly why he had brought it in, except for the strange sense of intrigue it had triggered in him. Apparently that was enough.

Certainly intrigue was a change from anything he had experienced all day. Another mediocre day, with mediocre customers and mediocre tasks to perform for a boss whose level of disgruntlement could be described as anything but mediocre.

Yes, thought Frank, something thought provoking would be a refreshing change, however, that could wait a while. Because what he needed now was a beer, so he grabbed a cold one from the top shelf of the fridge and proceeded to kick off his shoes, push old magazines from the couch, and fall backwards sheepishly into its severely worn cushions.

“What’s today? Is it Friday?” he thought aloud to himself.

Yes, it is, he realized and then began to worry. “How could I have forgot that?” Heck, how could he remember? All the days had been blurring together lately.

Frank had now been the town accountant at his local office of Truth, Oregon for the past decade. At first the job had brought some needed stability to his life, earning him a role within the community, along with a small sense of personal pride. The job had been a step in moving past his old life while stabilizing a new one. Although, lately it had just been causing his head to ache while giving him an odd feeling. A feeling that reminded him of how old cheese stank: constant, unpleasant and only getting worse with time. Lacking, however, the distinct advantage of going well with any of Frank’s Cabernet Sauvignons.