Little Fidget Takes A Stand

Little Fidget thinks each folder is a treasure trove. Old files, labels gone or faded, provide a wealth of information for his perusal. The need to spontaneously create a new filter is strong in their presence, but he reels his mind in and grabs onto the table edge. He starts to wish for a tree house, with pliable manila-colored walls, and an expanding cardboard roof.

Fidget would nestle inside, filling the room up with old newspaper up to his waist and pretend he was an important document from bygone times. He would wear a stained, yellow sweatshirt from the garage and maybe a top hat. He thinks he could stay up there for days.

But is this proper? Again, his search for the manual proves fruitless. Maybe he should create another one. But how to reconcile? Suppose his manual deviates too largely from the original? What then? Surely there’d be repercussions. Best not to start anew – and the search is on again.
He leaves to check the hallway – nothing. He rejoins the stack of folders and admires their sincerity, much like his own - only made from paper. He contemplates making a new folder, and naming it Sincerity in an elegant, cursive hand. Perhaps then the manual could be found. Maybe all it needed was a folder of its own.