Nothing But A Thing

The lawman approached the front desk, flashing his badge at the worn down attendant.

“Officer Slain! Thank God you’re here,” greeted the clerk. “I’ve just about had it with these rubbernecks.”

“Has anyone else been in the room?” Replied Slain, replacing the badge to his pocket.

“No, nobody, but I don’t think there’s anything of interest left.”

“It may not be of interest to you, but everything in that room has a story to tell, and it’s my job to listen,” Slain said, ducking under the yellow security tape. “You people don’t seem to realize it, but everything keeps record of what happens around it. Generally I start with the walls, because they have the most to say, but even that microwave in the corner might have seen something of importance. I’ll need a list of everything that’s been in and out of this room.”

“Everything?” asked the clerk.

“Everything. To you, these are nothing but things, but they speak to me.” And with that Slain interfaced with the nearest wall, listening to all it had to tell.

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