Day 41: Write a story that ends with the line ‘And this is the room where it happened.’

This is the story of my life.

Well, more specifically, this is the story of my death. And no, this isn’t the story of my rebirth, I am still dead. As the proverbial doornail. Or parrot. Or dodo.

The fact of the matter is that I am very, very dead. Life exits stage left very quickly when four burly men carry you bodily into a small room and handcuff you to a chair, before proceeding to beat you repeatedly with a variety of wonderful instruments such as tire irons and baseball bats. Personally, I want to know how Siobhan Mitchell trained and shaved four fully grown silverback gorillas to serve as her personal muscle. Clearly she’s got far too much money. Just as well I tried to take some of it off of her hands.

I’d done so well. She’d decided to spread her money across millions of accounts, under a ridiculous number of false names. Luckily for me, she kept a ledger. Real paper, real ink. The thing had a fountain pen next to it, for crying out loud. So, I, being the inquisitive person I am, snuck in for a look.

Siobhan’s office looked like the Mad Hatter and Sir David Attenborough made sweet, sweet love and gave birth to a fully furnished, 400 square foot space decked out in leather bound books and creepy stuffed animals. The squirrel was the one creeping me out the most as I crossed to the ledger. It has glass eyes, but managed to have a more engaging and unsettling stare than most of the living, breathing humans that I’ve known.

But I overcame the death stare of the killer squirrel and reached the blood red leather of the accounts ledger. You could smell the money emanating from it. Fake names, account numbers, online banking passwords and all the pound signs you could eat. Fourteen thousand, eight hundred and three accounts, none with more than five thousand pounds in it. It was genius. You could see the gears in motion. Seeing as people get interested when you withdraw large amounts, so just keep thousands of small accounts. I was in awe of Siobhan’s reasoning. And her perfect skin. And beautiful hair.

Anyway, I’ve got side tracked. So, I took photos of every page of the ledger, all fourteen thousand accounts. I spent three months on my computer, going through every account and organising a withdrawal of ten pounds from each one. See, I figured it had to be fairly invisible as long as I stretched it out over a long period of time. And I got away with it too.

Until I found Siobhan’s personal account by accident. Then she got pissed.

She sends in the gorillas, I get beaten nearly to death and then she walks in, legs up to her elbows and that fiery red hair. She straddles me, she whispers in my ear.

‘I want my money back.’

Then she puts the gun to my temple and pulls the trigger.

And this is the room where it happened.

The Idiot in Tin Foil


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