You stare at the brown leather folder. It puts you in mind of buyers and business, of secrets and scandal. In large bold letters imprinted into the leather is the word 'confidential'. It seems like a good idea to open it, to break the rules... but you don't. It could tell a detailed description of how your employers brutally murdered your parents when you were young, it could contain proof of life in outer space, it could simply be Dr Peppers secret recipe. So why don't you open it?
Because you respect the human being who made it and their privacy? If so, and you truly are so high and mighty why are you questioning what it contains? It's none of your business.
You continue to stare avidly at the consuming object. Should you pick it up? Why not? It couldn't hurt just to hold it, could it? Maybe you should take a small peak, in case it's important. No. You can't, you musn't, you daren't... but yet again.
An old clock singing breaks your reverie, what were you thinking about?... The folder, oh yes of course... the folder. The hunger to know what is inside is consuming you as you toy with the idea, just pick it up and open it, if it's not interesting enough surely you could just put it back down... No no whatever it is you couldn't just leave it alone after getting a small taste, and if you couldn't even resist the temptation to simply leave it alone, why do you think you could resist the greater allure to continue reading? You sigh as you realise you've been pacing the length of the dimly lit room, and the war with yourself continues on. You sink into a comfortable red armchair, a plain looking floor lamp spilling the only light in the room at your feet. Placing your head into your hands you ponder your struggle. For most it would be an easy choice, wouldn't it?
Another sigh escapes your lips, you just wouldn't know. A sudden thunderous crash bowls you to your feet, it could only have been a door thrown from it's hinges , you don't have long to decide.
With a spurt of new found determination you leap at the folder, snatching it close to your breast, and run to lock your bedroom door. Your eyes roam the leather folder greedily and with great decorum you lay it on an uncluttered desk. You turn the page, and drink your fill.
