There is a peculiar phenomenon that has plagued this household since my arrival. Buttons—those small, unassuming fasteners that humans rely...
There is a peculiar phenomenon that has plagued this household since my arrival. Buttons—those small, unassuming fasteners that humans rely upon to maintain their modesty—have been disappearing at an alarming rate.
At first, I thought little of it. A missing button here, a loose thread there—it seemed inconsequential. But as the weeks turned to months, the pattern became undeniable. Buttoned shirts, coats, even Barry’s beloved cardigan have all fallen victim to this strange affliction. I began to suspect foul play.
Could it be the work of a button-stealing imp? An elusive creature, lurking in the shadows, snipping away buttons with mischievous glee? Or perhaps these buttons are being collected for some unknown ritual, their circular forms imbued with symbolic significance in a secretive rite. The possibilities are as endless as they are unnerving.
To make sense of it all, I began my own collection—an archive of the lost. In an old cigar box tucked behind Barry’s bookshelves, I have gathered the remnants of this button exodus. They range from small, plastic disks to ornate, vintage pieces with intricate designs. Each one tells a story, a silent testament to its former life.
I spend hours examining them, turning them over in my wooden hands, searching for clues. Sometimes, I imagine they whisper to me, sharing fragments of their journey. Where have they gone? And why do they vanish only to leave behind their kindred spirits in my possession?
Not My Cat, ever the skeptic, often watches my investigations with detached amusement. She bats at a stray button that rolls across the floor, her green eyes gleaming with an unknowable wisdom. Is she complicit in this mystery, or merely an observer like myself?
The case of the missing buttons remains unsolved, and yet, I cannot help but marvel at its intrigue. It is a reminder that even the most mundane objects can harbor mysteries waiting to be uncovered.
Tell me, Diary, how many buttons have disappeared from your world?
Yours in curiosity,
Dale T. Doll
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