Notice of Reassessment
A short story written by Matt Gardner with PlotWeaver: Cards of Creation, a storytelling game made by Mod Hob Cooperative.
This story uses a Parallel Plot Pattern, written in 20-minute timed acts with all story cards drawn at random. For more information, visit www.plotweavergame.com
Act 1: Introduction of Distinct Plotlines
(Story Element Cards: The Connector, The Maverick, The Leader, Living Room, Countryside Farm, Village Market, and Mystery)
Élise Moreau did not scream.
The living room window was broken. Late morning air moved the lace curtains. A dining chair lay on its side. A porcelain lamp had been shattered across the hardwood floor.
She just stood in the doorway and took inventory.
The rug had shifted. Mud marked the pale weave in hesitant crescents. On the coffee table, a drawer sat half open.
“That drawer should have been closed,” she said to herself.
As she stepped between shards and knelt, she realized that the blue folder was gone.
Not money. Not jewelry. Not electronics.
Just the blue folder.
Outside, the farm continued as if nothing had shifted. Cows moved in the pasture. Wind pressed through tall grass. A tractor hummed somewhere distant.
Élise righted the chair, closed the drawer, and studied the window.
Most of the glass lay outside, “a forced exit?” she considered.
Her jaw tightened as she reached for her phone.
Not the police, she needed to call the market.
Camille Durand always seemed to notice patterns before other people did.
“That’s how you survive at the village market,” she liked to say.
She noticed substitutions, delays, and subtle hesitations.
That morning, she noticed ‘absence’.
Élise had not arrived.
The dairy delivery usually came at 9:00 AM sharp. Butter in wax paper, a couple of wheels of cheese, and Eggs if the hens were generous.
9:33 AM.
Camille told herself not to speculate. Still, she scanned the walkway again.
Lucie stood near the herb stall, staring into her palm.
Camille raised a hand to greet her, but Lucie did not wave back.
Lucie Moreau did not think of herself as a troublemaker; she felt that ‘Observer’ felt more accurate.
She had gone into the living room early to draw the pasture before school. The window had already been broken. Cold air. Moving curtains.
And a sound.
Fabric against wood.
The blue folder had been on the floor. Papers half-spilled. She picked one up.
Adult words. Stamps. Signatures, and in the bottom corner, a red municipal seal.
She folded the page and slipped it into her sweater when she heard movement in the hall.
Now, at the market, she turned the folded paper over in her hand.
The seal had smudged.
“Where’s your maman?” Camille called.
“She’s busy,” Lucie replied, not a lie.
