Helena Perez
The cold air stung my face as I VERB up my PLACE steps. I clutched at my ADJECTIVE winter coat, attempting to shield myself from the harsh wind. I ADVERB grabbed the mail from our wooden mailbox and VERB inside.
The warmth of my home welcomed me as I spotted my ADJECTIVE white cat, PERSONS NAME , perched on my dad’s recliner. I threw my coat and backpack on the floor and kicked off my Nike’s, joining her on the armchair.
“Hello, SAME NAME ,” I said with a smile as I picked her up and placed her on my lap. She was as fluffy as a cloud. Absently, I VERB her fur with one hand and sifted through the mail with the other. “Nothing but bills, SAME NAME ,” I sighed. “Mom and Dad are not gonna be ADJECTIVE about this, huh?” Almost every letter was a reminder to pay my younger sister's chemotherapy bill. Estelle was diagnosed with leukemia when she was 13, and even though it’s been almost two years, there’s no end in sight. Giving up on the mail, I got up to VERB it on our round kitchen table when a coffee-colored envelope with brilliant COLOR ink caught my attention.
I sat down at the table and ADVERB scooped up the alluring letter, which had my name and address carefully written on it in a deep COLOR . Curiously but cautiously, I opened the letter, and slowly read every word:
Dear Helena Perez,
Congratulations! You are cordially invited to a very exclusive murder mystery dinner party. Report to the old PLACE behind the PLACE in Seacrest Valley Park at promptly eight o’clock P..M. this Saturday evening. Don’t be late. Everything else you need to know regarding this weekend is on the back of this invitation. Prepare ADVERB and don’t forget your NOUN. You might need it.
- Sincerely,
The Invisible Man
The Invisible Man? A weapon? Huh? Quickly, I shook the confusing thoughts away. I didn’t have any more time to ponder, I was too eager to see the rest of the instructions. I flipped the invitation over and it said:
~ Your role is Miss Scarlet. Dress accordingly. I must say, you do look quite ADJECTIVE in COLOR .
~ Your weapon is the NOUN. Conceal it in a bag.
~ Do not tell anyone of your whereabouts on Saturday. This dinner is exclusive and you must have an invitation to enter.
~ Be prepared to solve the mystery. Don’t forget to look for clues. It will not be easy.
~ Do not bring your NOUN. Cheating is not condoned.
~ Do not show your instructions to anyone else. Keep it to yourself the whole time.
~ Do not waste your time looking for your host. I’m called The Invisible Man for a reason.
That’s it? That’s all I get to know? My mind was swimming with questions that I knew could only be answered if I attended this dinner. I knew I probably shouldn’t, but it was like I could feel a NOUN pulling me, telling me I must go. What’s the harm anyway?
