Take the money and run, his mind screamed. But after such a heavenly night how can I cheat her, he thought. She was still asleep. Nothing has stirred in the room after their earth shattering performance. Somehow one of the wardrobe doors have come open and a wad of cash has fallen on to the floor. He wanted to see if there was more money in there. But where did she get so much money? His friends have advised him to stay off her. She was trouble that's all they used to say. So far she had been good to him. Now if I take the money and run, all hell will break loose. She will be trouble for sure. A million excuses popped up in his mind. He reached for the wad and suddenly the room went blank. Dirty #*^%%$ that's all he heard.
I have to write. Those were the words that escaped the dying man's lips. He was found lying unconscious near a mountain of blank paper. His autopsy revealed over exhaustion as the reason. But what did he want to write so badly that it killed him, no one knows. The task was designated to the junior cop who was part of the investigation team. Let's call him Namura. So here we are with Namura in a room with the mountain of blank paper. He is awed as to why should there be so many papers near a dying man. He picks a sheet on the top. He studies it. It's as blank as blank papers can be. No pencil or pen has violated its virgin whiteness. Namura thinks of the white bed sheets back home. He is tired. All he wants is to crash on his bed. He feels angry about the whole situation. Here I am, staring at a blank piece of paper, wondering why someone who wanted to write so badly didn't write a single word, while the whole world is sleeping on their comfy beds. He wanted to tear the ...
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