Task 01
âlucky number seven. you miss me? donât answer that. i know you do. â
Work had been hell as per usual. Landon had spent the whole day sorting through possible clients for the company to take on. Â The day had passed in a hazed of intake calls, paperwork, and emails. In standard fashion, someone in the office had had a mental breakdown and had spent an hour in the bathroom loudly sobbing. When he had finally headed home for the day, the sun had already set. He opened his mailbox, pulled out the mail, and tucked it under his arm as he had headed upstairs to his apartment. The elevator in the building had been broken for going on three weeks now and even though the super had said that they were going to fix it, it seemed to Landon that it would never really be fixed. Upon entering into his apartment, he had thrown the mail on the table and set to the fridge to find something to eat. He settled on Trader Joeâs vegan mac and cheese. He ate it cold, directly from the container, and standing in the middle of the kitchen. He had fallen asleep on the couch shortly after that. Heâd found Madelynâs letter a couple of days later under a stack of unfinished paperwork. It had to be a prank. Sheâd been dead for years at this point. The longer that he stared at it, the less likely it seemed that it had just been a cruel joke. The handwriting, what he remembered of it anyway, seemed like hers. Welding a butter knife like a letter opener, he opened up the letter and extracted its contents. He read it all at once and a wave of sadness rushed over him. He was holding the paper in his hands, had read her words with his eyes, but it still didnât feel real. Soon after her death, Landon had been hit with the feeling that he didnât really deserve to mourn her. He didnât know her that well or as well as others. Heâd never put work into getting to really know her. Heâd just settled for being present but once she had died, that no longer felt like it was enough. He didnât think that he really deserved to be invited to something like this. Surely, there must have been someone who meant more to her who this should have gone too. It was his name on the letter and it had managed to find its way to his address. That had to mean something. The date that everyone was suppose to get there was fast approaching. He didnât have much time to decided what he was going to do. The letter hadnât specified how long theyâd be away, he wasnât sure what heâd tell his job but maybe, he could just quit? That seemed a bit rash but the more he thought about it, it didnât seem like that bad of an idea. He hated working there anyway. He put the letter back on the kitchen table and pulled out his cellphone, typing a quick message to a new friend.
[text] youâll never believe what showed up to my apartment.
