everything is hard to list, impossible to categorize

everything is hard to list, impossible to categorize

fiction
edward w pritchard

Everything is hard to list, impossible to categorize. I work at the goodwill and when we take in goods I keep a complete inventory. I must look carefully for people hide things behind their dresser drawers or underneath and inside of toy chests.

Yesterday I found several letters, handwritten in blue ink, on creamy thick stationary; explaining what happened to Mrs. Purlson the last eight years of her life.

There are no markings on the small oak vanity that the letters from Mrs. Purlson were hiding in and no dates on the letters. Mrs. Purlson could have been from anywhere in the United States or Canada or maybe Great Britain; except maybe Quebec, for all the letters are in English. Mrs. Purlson's husband was planing to kill his wife she suspected, and in the letters she tells of her eight year ordeal to understand and predict his motivation and behavior. As she went about her ordinary life Mrs. Purlson would write a few lines furthering the mystery of why Mr. Purlson would want to do away with his wife of sixteen years marriage.

The letters end smoothly on a warm day in June where ever the Purlson's lived at. We will never know what happened to Mrs. Purlson, murder or just mystery for I have been unable to locate her online.

I keep the letters and reread them now and then just for something to do on my breaks from work here at the Goodwill in Reston, Illinois.
end part 1