Black umbrella

Jason was having a rough time. Between tremendous past trauma and more current woes, he was struggling to stay afloat.  Day to day life had become a burden to endure; spending all his effort trying to keep his mind free from rumination has hindered his motivations to retain his grip on societal obligations.

Work slowed to a halt, unread messages stacked up, and he would choose a long walk out in the rain over a visit from a friend.

And one day, one of those long walks led him to a lost umbrella. Not the most uncanny of things to find out in the rain, but still slightly peculiar as there wasn't a justifiable about of wind to cause someone to lose something they obviously had the intention of benefitting from.

Usually, Jason would enjoy the vaguely masochistic habit of taking these walks without a raincoat or even hood, let alone an umbrella. But in his self-reflection, he took it as a sign the universe was giving him a break.

He walked over to the umbrella and picked it up. It was heavier than expected; oddly unbalanced.

But regardless, he opened it and concluded that walk with the peaceful sound of the raindrops striking this small cosmic omen of positivity.

When he arrived home, he went to close the umbrella and saw there was something attached to the inside—a small black notebook, neatly bound to the rafters of the umbrella.

He took it out and went to sit down in his living room to read it.

It was filled with undeniably philosophical entries.

It spoke of all things from how life should be cherished to how one should never lose their motivation to achieve solace as the future is blinding, and the turning point could hit at any moment.

It was uplifting and only reinforced his superstition that there was more to life than approached the eye.

For the next few days, he'd read these excerpts religiously. But also careful not to burn through it too quickly and really trying to pontificate on how this applies to his life.

In trying to avoid binging this new pseudo-Bible of his, he ended up getting back into a routine; work was going well, he was exercising and eating regularly, all in ode to making this little book last while not betraying the spirit of it by falling into unhealthy habits.

As the stack of pages under his left thumb grew thicker, and the feeling of things coming to an end loomed over his head.

He finally reached the epilogue.  He was surprised as the tone had changed. The first words spoke of how holding on to temporary emotions is futile. Time was limited, and you're never truly in the moment if each day is spent behind rose-tinted glasses or obscured by daydreaming too far into the future.

While it maintained a seemingly positive feeling, it was nuanced by vaguely inauspicious senescence. But it still spoke to him on a deeply personal level, reminding him of where he was before this book

And then, he turned to a page that was emptier than usual. He thought surely this wasn't at the end of the book; this can't be the author's final words to him; there were too many pages left for someone who clearly had no issue filling them to stop short and give up.

The page he was on noted a location. And a date. A storage locker in a nearby subway, two weeks from now. And a message " I hope you have truly appreciated my work and that it has impacted your life how I intended, in spirit of this I am now going to leave to you the inheritance that I have no one else to bestow upon."

Jason was ecstatic. Not only had this book changed his life just in reading it, but the author was going to grant him the sole beneficiary of their life savings? How much could it be? Was the first question to mind, surely it must be a lot for someone to go through all this effort just to choose a beneficiary.

In anticipation of this event, Jason couldn't settle his mind. All he could think of was how much and what he was going to do with it.

He put the book down and made tea. He couldn't sleep that night and was tired at work the next day.  And further spent that day idle minded, fixating on this windfall

The following days leading up to this date were much the same.

And when the day came, he put on some smart clothes, cleaned up as best he could. Was he going to meet the author? Would they become friends and share life stories while the author imparts more wisdom unto him?

The drive to the subway station was surreal for Jason, like that feeling you get on the way to catch a flight for a much-needed vacation. When he arrived he checked the locker and in it was a large bag it was heavy. But not heavy enough that he'd expect a lottery worth in cash to reside inside nor large enough for that.

Too anxious to open it on the spot, he took it out and waited, standing. Unsure what to expect.

He waited for what seemed like hours. Watching the people pass by, wondering if one of them could be the author.

Until finally, he gave up on the idea they'd be waiting for him too. So he went home. The drive back was nerve-racking, yet it was the most excited he'd felt in a long time, maybe even all his life.

The radio blaring his favourite playlists hand out the window feeling the air pass. Even the sun seemed warmer than it was earlier, the sky bluer, the clouds softer.

When he reached home, he opened the door with a shaky hand. Without even wondering if he'd locked his car, he walked straight to the dining table to look inside the bag. He unzipped it slowly; this was when he saw paper-like sheets inside through the small gap he had created. He couldn't tell whether time felt slowed or he was subconsciously opening it slowly to make it more climatic. It was treasury bills, denominations of a thousand; there must have been millions worth in there. Along with $20000 in cash.

His heart pounding, he'd never have to worry about finances again. That's easily enough for any house he wants,  any car, anything.

He couldn't believe it was this much.

He resisted the urge to dump the bag over his head and throw the contents up in the air like some cliche happy go lucky movie.

Instead, he zipped the bag back up and walked it up to his room, his knees weak.

He carefully placed the bag in his closet and laid down in bed. Staring up at the ceiling, dreaming of everything he was going to do. It must have passed 3 am by the time it even crossed his mind to turn the lights off and go to sleep, despite having work tomorrow. But who needs work with that much money.

As he faded off into blissful sleep, something scratched at the front door and then clicked; the latch turned and then the door opened to reveal a figure with a fine pair of leather gloves gently manoeuvring a set of lock picks.

They silently walk inside, glancing at each room, then approached the stairs, carefully testing their weight on the first step.

As they finessed any squeak that may have sounded alarm, they made their way up to the second floor, tentatively observing each door for indications of what room may be behind it, passes the slim door at the top of the stairs and the one beside it with what appeared to be a bathroom latch until they reached the third door, which must have been the bedroom—slowly turning the handle and gliding the door open across the carpet then stepping inside and putting their hands in their pockets watching Jason for a moment. They look around the room, then pull a gun out from their jacket and shoot Jason. The person lets out a sigh and walks over to the nightstand where they noticed the little black book; they open it to the epilogue, turn past the page Jason left off on with the instructions for the collection.

The next page reads, " I hope your last days were better than the rest of your life. I can only imagine the hope and dreams this treasure must have instilled in you. And that you will die closer to nirvana than if you had not stumbled upon this book."

No one ever reached that page; through their narrow-minded fixation on the treasure hunt and the appearance of conclusion to the author's writings, they were always too distracted to check if that was really the end.

Or at least that's all the author could assume since none of them ever made any preparations in regards to the ominous end page.

He searched the house for the money, a search which didn't last long.

They took it and left, closing the door behind them.