My iPod earphones have been brutally murdered. Here are the straight facts of the case:
9:55pm: I walk into my bedroom in the basement of my parents' house, expecting to put my pajamas on and climb into my hundred-year-old bed (yes, the ancient piece of furniture on which I sleep is really a century old--my great-grandpa used to use the same mattress that I now sleep on whenever I visit my parents, poky rusty springs and all...but that's an irrelevant tangent).
9:56pm: As my glance falls to the floor next to my bed where my laptop is sitting, I spot some string that is exactly the same color and length as my earphones, minus the earbuds. I bend down and pick up said object, my disbelieving eyes trying to convince me that what I am seeing is not actually the mangled remains of a dearly beloved friend.
9:57pm: As I study the cord, I notice how very cleanly sliced each end is, as if the guilty culprit took a savage pleasure in doing his dirty deed as immaculately as possible.
10:00pm: I trek back upstairs to find a superior detective and show him the corpse.
10:01pm: My father studies the evidence and is completely baffled, as are my sister, brother, and mother.
10:05pm: My father asks if anything in my room seemed out of place, and if all my valuables were still where I had left them last. Luckily, my laptop and its cord had remained seemingly untouched, and the rest of my belongings had been safely stowed away upstairs at the time of the crime.
10:07pm: A suggestion is raised that my curious little six-year-old brother may have had a minute of alone-time with some scissors. Unfortunately, he is unavailable for questioning, as he was put to bed an hour ago.
10:10pm: I return to the basement with a slight feeling of unease, but mostly a great sense of bewilderment. Though my dear brother can sometimes be quite an inquisitive little fellow, he very well knows the value of a pair of earphones, as he owns a set himself. Just in case, however, I look through the bathroom garbage to see if I can spot my earbuds. My efforts are in vain.
10:13pm: I return to my bedroom and begin to write this blog post.
10:16pm: Suddenly, a dark streak passes through my peripheral vision, and I look down just in time to see a small creature streak from under my bed to the slightly-ajar closet door and disappear inside the depths of the storage therein.
10:17pm: "Aha!" I say to myself.
10:18pm: I run up two flights of stairs to my parents' bedroom.
10:19pm: "The murderer is a mouse!" I cry in distress. (well, maybe I didn't use those words or that tone of voice exactly, but let's not detract from the case)
10:20pm: After raising the alarm that the crime-committer had not yet escaped, I bravely run back down to the basement, finding the courage to face my enemy as I think about my dear, mutilated comrade splayed on the floor next to my laptop.
10:22pm: My father enters the room, soon followed by my mother, soon followed by my brother, soon followed by my sister. The room becomes a little crowded. As we begin unloading storage boxes from the closet, the room becomes very crowded. I retire to my bed and continue to watch the unfolding scene whilst contemplating the best form of revenge.
10:30pm: At last, the closet is emptied but for a box or two behind which the murderer cowers. Sticky pads are set at strategic angles around the box so as to allow no possible escape route. My father begins to move the last box.
10:31pm: Out springs the guilty one, choosing flight over fight. Almost immediately, his legs are snatched by the goo that awaits him. He struggles, pulling and chewing, but to no avail.
10:32pm: A ringing cry of victory resounds throughout the room. But then, "Lo! What have we here?" declares my father as his sweeping glance comes to a halt at the corner of the closet. (again, these words may not have been exactly those that were spoken, but one must consider the inexorable distress of the situation at hand and the affect it had upon my experience of the moment)
10:33pm: Out from the depths, my father pulls the sad remains of my dear, tormented earphones.
10:34pm: As my father pulls the sticky pad, mouse and all, out of the closet, he laughs a slightly evil laugh. My mother suggests we might feed the guilty one to the cat. But my desire for revenge suddenly disappears as I see the poor creature with the big eyes struggling to pull himself free of the entombing goo of doom.
10:37pm: After packing the closet back up, my father and brother take him and dispose of him. What his final end was, I do not know, and never shall.