I closed the book right after I wrote down information of a man who had died recently and set the book into the bookshelves that was at the side of the endless hallway.
As he reached out and slid in the book into the empty space, a tattered piece of paper suddenly fell onto the floor. A paper? I don't remember writing anyone's information on a single piece of paper rather than a book. I muttered underneath my breath "What?"
I crouched down and picked up the tattered piece of paper. I didn't had time to read it since I still had many work but curiosity got the best of me. I turned to the other side of the paper and saw a picture of someone, but the face was distorted which didn't allow me to identify who it was.
Either way, I have to continue my work. I've already wanted my time because of this useless paper.
_
I continued to do my work, losing track of time as I was too focused but one thing was keeping me uneasy. Without realizing it, I misspelled the name of the person I was writing about and cursed myself, considering it was ink and can't be erased.
I had to rewrite everything. After I finished, I slid it into an empty space of the bookshelf. No, I can't allow myself to get distracted anymore. I won't feel easy, not until I finally get information of this person and write them in the book. It was his duty after all.