The Meaning Of

During a discussion about the meaning of life with my friend, we somehow began writing this story. I would write an installment, and then she would, completely making it up as we went. This is the result. Basically, for 70 some years, my friend searches for the grand question and answer to the meaning of life. Finally, after all that time, we come in contact again.

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25. XXV

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I did not normally admit this, even to myself, but this particular situation was an exception: I was scared. I had known that my adventure could very possibly lead to disaster, but I was still surprised. I'm not sure what I had expected, but it wasn't this. The man I had been following motions for me to get inside the van as the other three surround me in an attempt to herd me in. My thoughts went wild as I tried to find a way out. There was no way for me to escape. I was trapped. The man tensely motioned for me again. I backed away and stammered in as confident of a voice as I could muster, "I'm not getting in until you tell me who you are and what's going on. I've come this far. I deserve to know." I was sick of not knowing what was going on, a feeling that I seemed to have had every day of my entire life, but was occurring even more frequently as of recent. The man glared at me, and I again feared for my life. Then he glanced toward each of his comrades before again meeting my gaze. "Very well. Come in the van, and I'll explain everything that you are allowed to know," he said. His voice was low and rich. For some odd reason, I hesitantly trusted it. Besides, I had already come this far. Once more I looked at the other men, realized I had no better option, and hopped into the car. The four men came in behind me and slammed the doors shut. Immediately, a fifth, unknown person started the van up and began driving away. "What! What's happening?" I cried, borderline hysterical, "You promised!" The man who had spoken before sat down and looked at me calmly. "I said I would tell you what I could. And I will." The three other men relaxed, but I remained rigid, waiting for him to continue. "We're the FBI. A secret division that most Americans never hear of." He flashed his badge at me, which I must admit, looked pretty legit. "Alright," I said slowly, "but what does any of this have to do with me?" The man actually smiled. "It has less to do with you and more so to do with your friend, Carmen Ramirez. We've been trying to track her down for decades. Unfortunately, we've had very few leads. That is, until you received correspondence from her last week. We need to find her. And we think that you are the key for us to do just that."

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