Three friends, they grow up and apart.
Some things are lost, some is gained.
Tension resolves
A friend is found.
Another discovers her home.
The first makes use of his findings.
Really, it's a common story, to tell it neatly would only require a few pages.
["Alexsis stepped over washed out chalk squares. When Ritu had called him about her parents he was taking notes on hieroglyphs, his notebook left on his table was still open with his consise writing cut off mid word. Alexsis dust prints on the doormat so, he left his shoes by the door. "Her birth certificate," he said "I wonder what else she's found."]
I wonder what lies between those words. In the pause between statements, there is a richness I seek.
In writing this, I am a kinetic reader, sometimes with only a few words. If I strip the story's spine like peeling bones out of meat. If I make a plant of only flowers, thorns, and a buried stock. Can I show how far the story will bleed when it leaves it's skin?
One friend is lost between two.
Two begin to talk.
Thus, begins the rule of threes.