The Monk in the Attic

Following is the story written at writing group this past Sunday. The first paragraph was written by me. The rest was contributed by different members of the group as it was passed around the table. Please note that the instructions given were NOT to read all that had been written before (which is why this changed from 1st person to 3rd). Most of the stories were humourous. Mine was just weird.

The Monk in the Attic

After mother died, cleaning out her house was not a chore I looked forward to. I had no idea what surprises were in store for me. And surprises there were.

A box containing steaming letters. Pictures of a man standing in front of a monastary. Handsome he was, with a smile meant for who. My mother? These letters were not from my father for sure.

She picked up the first letter. The writing looked like a medieval scribe had penned it with a quill. The paper had a parchment look, but had been folded and unfolded many times. Parts were streaked with damp tears.

That was the problem with parchment. It conveyed the tears but none of the meat of what was happening with the writer. He/She was obviously very sad.

The scroll reached such proportions as to spill over the ancient table. It had belonged to one of the others and was of maple complete with compartments for treasured items.

The story the scroll conveyed was poignant and the monk wiped his own tears away as he read.

"Mirror, mirror ont he wall. I am the most beautiful monk of all."

The words moved him, but only because he could translate the clue buried inside them.