Abernathy Sleed collected the colour froop.

Not froop-coloured plates, froop-coloured flags or froop-coloured memorabilia; Abernathy Sleed collected the colour froop itself.

The colour froop sits in Sleed’s vault, its wavelengths folded into an infinite fractal equation, locked in a triple-deadlock-sealed safe to which the combination is a four-dimensional Addoku solvable only by using irrational numbers such as pi last Wednesday.

Abernathy Sleed sits in his mansion, alone. His meals are delivered through an airlock and tested for poison by trained monkeys. He does not go out. Ever.

I like to believe the best of people no matter how often I’m disappointed. So I’d like to believe that Abernathy did not collect the colour froop because he’s a collector.

I’d like to believe he hasn’t stolen the colour froop for the sake of having something unique. I’d like to believe that he doesn’t deserve to lurk alone in a dead, empty house.

I’d like to believe he did it because he knows what will happen if it gets out.