It was cold and rainy that evening. I was writing my book while sitting on my sofa, sipping my tea and eating some biscuits. I was writing a story about a man with several mental illnesses trying to live by himself without his pills given by his psychiatrist because he had enough of them. When I was writing a part where he was running away from police. Then, I got stuck at a point and laid in the sofa and started to think about a possible idea to write about.
I suddenly heard my garden gate squeak. Someone was braking into my house. I stood up from my sofa and slowly looked out of the window, but there was nothing suspicious(at least from the window). I quickly grabbed my old pistol which was passed to me from my father and my jacket and ran downstairs. I got outside and looked around the garden. But there was no one around. At a sudden, someone hit my head and knocked me down.
I was waked up by a car horn passing down the street in the morning around 7 AM. Something warm was coming from the back of my head, I immediately checked there and it was bleeding a little. That touch woke me up and I ran over to my car and went to hospital and called the police on the road. At the hospital, They stopped the running blood and bandaged the area and sent me home. When I got home, as expected, there were police everywhere. They noticed me at the entrance and questioned me about the situation. After 15 minutes of questioning, they told me to be careful about another situation and left the house. At the hallway, I found a piece of paper in my pocket that said “Call me now!”. On the crumpled paper, there was also a number whose last digit had been wiped out. Something strange was going to happen, I felt it at that moment.
Quickly, I ran over to my desk and turned the study lamp on to see if I can figure out the number by its remains. Yes, there were wiped lines which cannot be figured out easily. Then I remembered my amateur microscope left from my high school years. In a pile of boxes in the garage, after 1 hour of searching, I found it and started examining the crumpled paper. Finally, after 10 minutes, I found out what number was it. It was 5. I dialed the number and talked to the person on the line. He said: “Come to John F. Kennedy St. today at 3 PM with a half-million dollars or these attacks will continue to happen.” and hung me up. Because of the fact that I’m not a film character, I grabbed the money and gave it to him and lived happily ever after.