A man named Cedric said rising an eyebrow, “Hmm… Isn’t it more likely that the vase broke due to a gust of wind?”
He dawdled around the broken vase thinking, “It’s soiled all over. But wait… what’s that?”
He stooped to have a close look and continued thinking, “A boll of paper. Oh, it’s wrapped… around this stone. It’s not the gust of wind, it’s a stone…”
He unwrapped the boll of paper to see words written on it, and started reading, “Honor, honor, honor! Why do each time, I must show up to you? This time it’s you, who must show up here. I don’t know what got you to live in that part of the country, but since we parted with the grips, and your down-trodden living since, things have gone haywards…”
Cedric tore up the paper with furrowed brows as he thought, “It’s over a long time ago. Bogus! Where I am not part, I must not stay there…”
Cedric cleaned the mess on the porch, scooping the soil and vase pieces with the torn pieces of paper, and moved towards the trash, murmuring, “With what happened last time, nobody will ever live in a neighborhood with those souls. I must stay where I am, I’m happy with that. For sure, these people do not find peace without thrice accusing someone falsely… Maybe, I find some way to protect my property. This must not continue forever.”
On his way back to the porch, he continued to reflect upon the note, “It’s through this mean, the people get engaged within such activities. My notebook consists such acts, the names, and the cuttings. I might find this goon with the journal, but I would never like to engage with such people ever.
“And I have told them countless times, my interests are foreign to theirs. I am not one of them, but why now, after much time has passed, they would need me. Our ways are different, they cannot be the same. They must not think the contrary. I have left it for good…
“But why they’re fretting me right now, by flinging stones at my vases? It may be the target was the window but instead it hit the vase. Yes, something like that, isn’t it? Should I speak to them? Let me find the way in the notebook.”
Searching out the book shelf for some time, he pulled out a black covered notebook and exclaimed, “The leaves have dried so many times, but my first notes are intact. Good for me to journal events for all the time these diabolicals interracted with me. Why? Each move must be noted, by none other but Cedric…
“Let’s see what the state of affairs were. Many people think that tracking the money gets the things checked. But what I boast of, is a tracking of the words spoken. Is it the page eight? Yes!
“I must squint my eyes reading it. Oh there! Down there! Palas. I tore off the letter wrapped around the stone. But twenty years ago, Palas was one of the people who messaged in such a way. Doubt, if it’s an imposter. But why? An imposter? The last I had heard from him was some fifteen years ago, and then, poof! Vanished.”