I’m not saying that I’m a good woman, but don’t even I deserve rights, too?

[A monologue in black and white] We are creatures of habit. Those little things, hello to a passerby, coffee in the morning, are our drink of water in the Sahara. They keep us sane. For me, it was a Butler cubicle. Yet somehow, everything is different now. Nothing is, or will ever be, the same.

It was an average Wednesday morning, like every Wednesday morning, any Wednesday morning, really. Except it wasn’t. I fell into my usual comfortable patterns: waking up at 7:30 AM, going to Butler Library by 8, and returning to my happy place, a Butler 202 cubicle. I stayed in the same spot, falling into my heaps of work for an hour or two. I’m a hard worker, you know. I looked up. The clock struck 10. I had obligations, cases to solve, places to be in the big, big city. The big Apple, if you will. It was a 10:10 class.

It’s hard to say goodbye to the places you love. Hits your heart hard. But I had to do it. I walked outside. It was a warm, clear day, but it didn’t look good. Litter on the streets. Grayish liquid pooling near the curb. Juulers clouding the air outside Butler. People ignoring their responsibilities to play a strange game called spike-ball as cold cases froze over. A single AirPod fallen on the ground – where was its friend? Friends will drop you like a loaf fresh out of the oven. It had bad news written all over it, like the February of ’31. I kicked the curb.

Soon, my 10:10 class was over. I was back. But not soon enough. I guess things really just change in the blink of an eye. I entered Butler Library and walked back to my cubicle. Like ever, it was welcoming. This time, a little too welcoming. There was something about it that rubbed the wrong way. I just couldn’t place my finger on it. It was deceptive, like a knowing cat that had scratched the curtains.

I sat back down and opened up my notebook. Someone had left me a note.

The Microsoft Clip Art. The colorful robber. The strange use of exclamation points. The bolded message: SOMEONE IS WATCHING! There was a sense of urgency there, like a bad episode of Pretty Little Liars. Or Riverdale. The Thief of Butler was playing a game, a sick game, with me. But who was the Thief of Butler? What did he want? And why?