Adieu

Boiled leather. Hot Glue. Fresh paper. Ink. Cloth. These were the smells that accompanied my birth. Pressed into existence by the steel slats of a mindless machine, I rode out on the conveyor belt beneath rows of swinging, flickering, white factory lights beside hundreds of my brothers and sisters. We had no idea where we were, who we were, or where we were headed. All we could hear were the rumblings and ramblings of the massive humans, the clamp-click of machines, and the soft whirring of the fans above like metal suns.

We were carried by the Belt, passing rows of humans and machines, perfecting our spines, stamping letters onto our front, wrapping us in thin, clear plastic, and sending us on our way. Dropped through a door and stuffed into the bottom of a cardboard box with only my siblings around me, the lid was closed and all was dark. We were jostled and thrown about during our journey, veiled by darkness and lack of purpose. We didn’t know where we were going.

Weeks past, months, time continued on until one day, the noises and the jostling halted abruptly. The box was opened and flooded with white light, blinding me and my siblings. I alone was grabbed, picked out and carried into a crowded, noisy shop. I was placed nonchalantly on a shelf upright, staring down at the passers-by. Novels and other journals lined the shelves around me, but I felt alone without the company of my siblings.

More time past, and as the dust settled upon my black leather cover, I was chosen by a small boy, couldn’t’ve been more than twelve. He and his mother exchanged me for a couple of pounds and then stuffed me into a bag. A long pen was thrown in beside me. It was in the car ride home from the bookstore that the boy first wrote within my pages.

Journal Entry 1 – July 8th

Finally! Something to write in! I’ve been waiting for this for ages. I mean, I had notebooks before, but they were all scrappy old ones which had scribbly drawings in and everything. They were disgusting to write in. I especially didn’t want one that had designs on it like the kids at my school. I don’t want spiderman or superman to read what I’m writing, or stare at me while I write. Ah, this book is perfect. This is the best day ever! Anyway, it’s getting difficult to write in the car, the road is really bumpy and my hand is cramp-

I was given a place beside the boy’s bed, elevated by a stack of thick, broad, novels with the pen resting atop my cover. I still missed my siblings, but this was better than being in that crowded shop. It was especially nice to have the boy appreciate me as much as he did. I was beginning to discover my true purpose; to be written in. It’s a curious feeling, but enjoyable all the same. I am the canvas to his boundless and ecstatically youthful words of creativity and imagination. Strange, that, I remember thinking that day what would come of his writing. What would he create.

Journal Entry 4 – July 11th

I’ve decided to split this journal into two parts – one is my journal (this) and the other is for my writing; Short stories, chapters, etc. I’ve been trying to write a lot but it doesn’t always come out the way I want. Either way, now that it’s nice and warm I’ve been walking a lot outside, and I am currently writing this beneath a gaping willow tree over a river. It’s beautiful. I think I’ll write a story about a fish who loses his fins.

I was content. Fresh air. Sun. The warmth of the boy’s bedroom, the company of his writing and presence. It was maybe even better than in that cramped box, though I did miss my siblings. Still, their memory in my mind was fading, replaced with the company of the boy’s novels, and of course the boy himself.

Summer passed, as did autumn after it, and winter after that. Spring came with a fresh breeze and a clear sky and by then I was half full of notes and journal entries from the boy. We were close, me and him, like brothers. His writing kept me entertained, and gave me a purpose besides sitting on a shelf gathering dust. I felt important. Little did I know then what was coming. One day in the midst of spring, the boy sat down and began to write these words within one of my pages –

Journal Entry 314, April 14th

Whew! It’s been a strange day. Very exhilarating. I woke up this morning, went to school, did all that stuff, and as I was walking back, I saw a writing competition was being held by a company I had never heard of. Grand prize of 20,000 pounds. Well, I was doubtful of being able to win, even so I decided to enter. It couldn’t hurt. There were no guidelines for it, so I chose an old story that I wrote a while back and submitted it. It was the best I could find. Hopefully it did the job. If not, that’s fine. Well, the results come back a week from now. Can’t wait to see what happens!

That was it. I didn’t know what to think. At that time I wasn’t really sure what it all meant. I still don’t fully, but either way I couldn’t do much about it, so I waited to see what would come of this mysterious competition. He wrote of it every night for a week, dreaming of what he could purchase with that money. I too spent some time thinking. He could buy me a new ribbon or refurbish my cover. Or maybe a new pen? It did excite me a little.

A week from that day, the boy awoke. He packed his books, ate lunch, and went to school, leaving me alone in his room to ponder what the results of the competition would be when he returned. I definitely believed in him back then, I still do, but only as a writer, not as a friend. I knew that his writing and whatever story he had submitted had a chance of success. Only time would tell.

Journal Entry 320, April 21st

OH MY GOD. I DID IT! I WON! I’m speechless right now! I can barely write this my hands are shaking with exasperation and excitement! They-

There was a short break here as the boy left me face up on his bed to go and retrieve some tea and biscuits. As I lay there, my heart pounded in my cover. What was he going to buy? I figured he could get me some upgrades regardless; pens and cover replacements were nothing in price compared to £20,000.

…sent me the note earlier today, saying I had won. Within the note was included a cheque for £20,000! I can’t believe this is actually happening! Luckily, while at school, I had time to brainstorm. I know now what I want to buy.

I waited impatiently for him to scrawl down the answer. What would it be?

A computer! I’m going to buy a massive computer, complete with a monitor, keyboard, and mouse. In fact, I’ve already ordered it. It’s on its way now!

Not what I had in mind. Still, it was fine. He could buy me a new pen, a refurbished cover, or other things like that with the leftover money, surely. Little did I know the sentence that he wrote next would crash those hopes like a brick through glass. This is what he wrote –

Now my hand won’t cramp when I write! I can type out stories twice as fast! Perfect! This is the best day ever!

I was closed, thrown onto the stack of novels, and left there while the boy went to eat. All I can remember thinking was “Why? Why? Why? What was I doing that wasn’t good enough? How could a machine be better than me?”. I felt stupid, angry, alone, and naked. The novels below me tried their best to comfort me, but I wouldn’t listen. The boy’s words ran through my head again and again, preventing me from sleep or rest.

Journal Entry 321, July 8th

Wow, I haven’t written in this thing in almost a year and a half. Strange how time flies like that. I’ve written so much since then that when I look back in these stories, they seem ancient and simple. The improvements are very noticeable.

I wanted to ask him what the stories he was writing were like. I wanted to be written in again. I realised during my year-and-a-half rest that that was my purpose, and without it I am nothing. I only wanted to be written in. Just a small story.

The only reason I’m writing in this now is because I can’t exactly take my computer on a walk with me and I felt like getting some inspiration from the river where I’m sitting. It’s a beautiful location; a little bank with a willow tree overlooking the rocks and the gushing streams of clear water. Ugh, my hand cramps a lot when I write in this. Why did I ever buy this book? I suppose I could’ve written in someone else’s computer and that would’ve been more comfortable.

Anyway, I’ve sort of lost my inspiration at this point, and my hand will cramp if I write more. Time to get some rest here. Adieu!

I don’t know why he put that “adieu” at the end there. Who was he speaking to. I will never know, and to be honest I don’t care much anymore. The boy soon stood up, stretched, and began ambling towards the path. Whether or not he left me there on purpose or by accident, I’m not sure. As I watched his figure get smaller and smaller, I wondered where he was headed. What would he do with his talent of writing. Would he ever buy another notebook. Would he ever come looking for me again. Would we ever meet? The pen that had been with me since the beginning rested against me, but very soon the wind pushed it away and it fell into the river with a plunk.

I was alone. Never written in again. My pages slowly decayed and the writing that was scrawled upon them slowly faded. My cover withered, my body grew old. I was alone.