The man leaned forward, resting his chin on the desk before him, staring intently at the papers neatly arranged on its surface. They were not so neatly arranged in his mind. There they clashed and jarred against eachother, there was no pattern or rhythm about them. And yet there must be.
The fourteen papers had all been found hidden in various bizarre places across the city. One in the hollow of a tree, one half concealed in a dry gutter, another simply placed in a seemingly random mailbox. As they turned up and their bizarre contents were revealed the public became frightened. That's when they landed on his desk.
Some were drawings, some were rambling stories or diaries, others were merely lists of numbers that went on and on over both sides of the page. Some were all of these indiscriminately thrown together on a single sheet. All had apparently been done in the same steady yet careless hand. There was an intelligence behind them all though, a sense of purpose and an intense aura of seriousness. Perhaps if he overlaid this one with this object that it had in common, and then this one here, this flipped over...
The puzzled man thrust back his chair with a sudden frustrated movement and strode over to the open window. If it wasn't so hot out the air may have cleared his head. He pushed his glasses up onto the top of his head and rubbed his eyes. These things were madness.
He froze, a horrible thought striking him. What if they were the fevered exhaust of a deranged mind? Then there were be no actual meaning, perhaps a pattern of a sort, but one that only made their meaning more abstruse and had no basis in logic.
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