Don't Look At Me, I Didn't Do It

She couldn't figure out why the nagging feeling in the bottom of her stomach won't go away. Something seemed missing. Like there was a big gaping hole somewhere. It'd be great if only she could find out what it is exactly that is bugging her. Ransacking the brain, as she has now come to realize, doesn't really do much if the thing one was looking for simply refused to be found - as if insistent on playing hide-and-seek with the seeker who does not want to sought the hiding because of the want that the hiding would just simply come out in the open. It would, you know - making things sure a hell of a damn lot easier. Wow that's two curse words there. But what the heck.

One thing she knows for sure: somebody stole something from her. Something valuable. Something important. Something priceless. Something...she definitely wants, and in case it's not already clear to you guys, something she definitely needs.

All I gotta tell you is, don't look at me. I didn't do it.

***
Weird, random mutterings in the middle of my work break. So sue me.