And Ten Minutes The Poorer

The search is beginning to feel fruitless.

I slam the wardrobe shut and head out onto the landing. After a thorough check of the third bedroom, my token box room, the check of the upstairs on my house is complete. The result? Nothing. And ten minutes the poorer.

Actually, not quite. I've accumulated a gumball, a wizened prawn cracker, and what amounts to a pocketful of loose change from various dim corners.

I thump downstairs dejectedly. This is not how I wanted to start the New Year; looking for things is one of my least favourite activities. I love finding things I'm not looking for; this is one of the great joys of window shopping. But hunting for things at home? I can't stand it.

There are only two rooms downstairs; a comfortable lounge and the kitchen diner. They are both bright and airy; I can't imagine for a moment that I'll find what I'm looking for in either of them.

The lounge takes but a moment, as the sofa and TV furniture stand clear of the floor. A quick scoot around the room on all fours, including checking under the bottom of the curtains, results in my bounty swelling by three small coins and a paperclip. I am also reminded that I really need to hoover, as a menacing dust bunny mocks me from behind the TV.

The remaining room offers a little more challenge. I circle the dining table in the kitchen diner, checking carefully, and once again check behind the curtains. No more copper coinage here; I must have vacuumed recently.

I move into the kitchen area and sigh; the linoleum floor is clear, and it just seems pointless checking in the tiny cupboards. But I do, one at a time, hunting but finding nothing, and feeling a fool for doing so. I have no idea what possesses me to look down the plughole in the sink; the pressure must be getting to me.

As I step back, I trip over my own feet and crash unceremoniously onto my backside. It hurts. This is too much!

Why do I put myself through this?!

Why do I let myself get driven crazy by this search?!

My heart pounding, adrenaline surging, and my butt aching, I screw my eyes up and bellow my frustration at the house in general.

OKAY, I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANY MORE! I GIVE UP!

It feels good to say it, to shout it out loud.

When I open my eyes, I am surrounded by four figures, dressed in black. Sharp, cunning eyes regard me coolly behind ornate dark masks, and lethal weapons glisten in the early morning sun of my kitchen.

Game over.

You know, the next time the Ninjas come over wanting to play Hide-and-Seek, remind me to suggest Monopoly instead.


Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2011
Picture borrowed from the DHD Multimedia Gallery, with thanks