The dog-eared post-it note remained stubbornly adhered to Tomas's desk until Saturday, when he walked in to find it had fluttered to the floor, settling on a small stack of x-box games. It was faded now, but the messy scrawl upon it remained. He bent, curly orange hair falling over his crooked frown, to pick it up, unsure exactly what to do with it, and read the words again:
Tom,
The reality ninjas visited,
I'm sorry.
You don't have to reply,
Tan.
Halfway through the motion of scooping up the note, Tomas froze. He stood very still for a moment, then in a burst of anger swung a kick that sent the pile scattering in all directions across the room.
Tomas straightened slowly and took a breath, shaking the hair from his eyes.
Things were not going well.
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Copyright Leah Petts 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
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