Special Delivery

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

6:00 AM

I groggily slap my hand around till I find my phone and turn the stupid alarm off. It feels too early. I open my eyes to see what time it is. 6 AM! What idiot sets an alarm for 6 AM on a Saturday?! OH, that’s right, me. I’m that idiot because today is the day. The day I finally get my shit together. And because I was the idiot that set the alarms, I can either get up now, or turn off alarms at five-minute increments for the next hour.

*Sigh*

Alright, time to get up. I’ve been planning this morning since two weeks ago. My job sucked and would continue sucking. So, I had to get out of it before it killed me. My solution was to finally get off my ass and write the stories I told in my head.

I shuffle all of ten steps from my bed to my kitchen to turn on the coffeepot. The ONLY reason I’m up at this ungodly hour is because of all the self-help blogs that recommend a ‘strong’ start to your day. So once my life-giving nectar finishes brewing, it’s time for meditation and yoga. After that some long-overdue writing time.

3 hours later

One hour trying to write… nothing. Another hour reading about how to conquer writer’s block. A second hour trying to write… and still nothing. Right now, I want to throw my keyboard out a window or bash it to bits on the wall. Do all writers go through this? This entire project would be going so much better if I hadn’t lost my notebook two weeks ago. Although if I hadn’t lost it, I wouldn’t be so motivated to write now.

Over the last year, I almost filled that notebook with story ideas. It was a major step for me to start putting my thoughts on paper. That notebook was my first step towards something more, and it went everywhere with me. But 2 weeks ago, I took it with me while going out with friends. Work sucked for all of us, and one thing led to another. I don’t know exactly when I lost it, but at some time between shot three and noon on Saturday, it disappeared. In all fairness, I have written down great ideas in the past while out with my friends; but losing my notebook made me realize that if I had started on any of those story ideas, I would have something to show for it instead of just mourning its loss.

Whatever. Either way it was gone, and I had to do something with my life besides wither away working a 9-5. Time to take a walk, maybe some fresh air would spark inspiration.

I put on my shoes and open my apartment’s door. About six inches in front of my door, and perfectly straight and centered on the mat, there’s a package wrapped in brown butcher paper and tied with crimson twine. It’s small and has my name written on it in big, black letters. Oddly, it has no shipping label or return address, just my name and apartment number. I pick up the package and shake it tentatively: no sound. It’s light as well as small. I bring it inside and place it on my table. Something about the package strikes me as odd, slightly foreboding. I’m not the superstitious type though, so I open it without further hesitation.

I stare in shock: inside is my notebook! This must be what if feels like to have your prayers answered. Joy and relief and confusion! But how did it get here? I pick up the notebook and notice a note tucked into it. The note is folded neatly and written on the same brown paper the notebook had been wrapped it.

The note reads:

Heyyy!! I hope this note finds you well. As you can see, I am returning your notebook to you. You must’ve forgotten it in the uber I rode in two weeks ago. Also, I won’t lie lol I was slightly – or maybe heavily – inebriated. So, I read the entire thing.

I can’t keep reading—I bury my face in my hands for a second. How embarrassing! Not only did I leave my notebook in an uber like an amateur, but whoever found it had read it. This is the notebook that for the last year I put my silliest and strangest thoughts into. I had written things in there that were meant only for my eyes. I take a deep breath, compose myself, and suppress the overwhelming urge to hide.

Your ideas are great!! (They are?) Seriously, bravo to you for writing them down. I imagine you’re some sort of aspiring author. Or maybe a published one!? Oh, that would be sooo cool. Either way, you’re awesome for what you’re trying to do. I love reading and it brings me joy when people like you create. SO here is your notebook back. Hopefully, it helps! XOXO

The note isn’t signed. So, a random stranger loved all my ideas… and somehow knew where I lived. That sense of foreboding returned. I flipped through my notebook just to check for identifying information. Nothing—I hadn’t even written my name in it. Okay…. I double check the door to make sure I had locked it. Whew, I had.

This had to be a prank from my friends! We had been out together. Definitely no reason to freak out until I knew. I type out a text, and then check to make sure it doesn’t come across as accusing or panicky. I hit send and sit down to wait. Nope, can’t just sit there. So, I get up and started pacing.

Ding.

Okay, not him.

Ding.

Not her.

Ding.

Or him.

One by one they all said no. Well, so it was a random stranger that happened to be a super sleuth. I guess I should be relieved that they used their powers for good by returning the notebook. If I keep dwelling on this, I’ll just waste the rest of my Saturday. I return to my desk to see if I can write with the inspiration from my notebook. Whoever it was said my ideas were good. I open my computer and realize my back is to the door. Not cool. I shift my desk until I can see both my door and the solitary window to my apartment.

Several hours later

I look up with satisfaction. After flipping through my notebook, I had landed on an old idea I wanted to develop. Now I have several pages of notes and research on a sci-fi/fantasy political drama I thought of in the shower three months ago. I crack my knuckles and look at my window. The sun was barely visible on the horizon through the city. It would be fully dark soon, which meant I should throw something in the microwave for dinner.

BANG

I nearly fall out of my chair. Somebody is knocking – loudly! - on my door.

BANG

Or kicking! What are they doing? The door was shaking from the blows.

BANG

CRASH