Little Black Book

A black book greeted her upon opening the door. She had no recollection of purchasing it or of dropping it on the floor. Her face contorted, puzzled. No one else had a key to her home.

‘A prank?’ She pursed her lips before dismissing the thought. Kicking her shoes off, she quickly darted through the rooms, only to find no one. She was relieved, yet unnerved to find she was, in fact, alone.

“Maybe I imagined it,” she muttered aloud. Only to be confronted by the book upon returning to the entryway. She squatted over the unassuming book and poked at it with the keys she still held in her hand.

Nothing happened.

She picked it up and turned it in her hand noting the sleek design before opening it.

The first page was blank.

Thumbing through blank pages, she came to a note with inky blank lettering: Start here.

‘Start here?’ She sighed, picked herself up and made her way to her desk setting it down. The black book stared up at her from her desk. She glared back at it in suspicion. She frowned, plopping down in her chair.

Shaking her head she collected herself before flipping to the page with inky black lettering.

As she reached for her pencil bag, her eyes glanced down to new writing. She was unsure how she could have missed it before.

Start here. Please use black ink. Thank you.

She blinked and ran her fingers over the page. Nothing changed. Taking a deep breath, she reached into her pencil bag and pulled out a pen instead.

“Hello” she inked into the paper with care. She wrinkled her nose. Her handwriting looked childish compared to the lettering on the page.

Boring.

Is the lettering that appeared before her eyes. She frowned, too annoyed to register that the book had started to write to her.

“That’s rude.” She scribbled back.

The book, as if slighted, did nothing more.

She stared at it, slammed it shut and attempted to swivel her chair away but her eyes flicked back to the book.

Pouting, she flipped back to the inscribed page. The writing on it was different. Hers, had disappeared.

Start here. This book has already been started and marked. Don’t be afraid to create. Please use black ink. Thank you.

It’s as if the book knew she had a shelf filled with brand new notebooks she could never stomach marring with her writing. It was clever. She gave it that much. But it proved just as daunting as a blank page.

Her two previous entries felt denied and rejected. Though she begrudgingly admitted they did not amount to anything.

She took a deep breath before jotting down a short poem.

I came to find today—

A little black book,

appearing at my entryway.

A gift from deities unknown?

But why not $20,000 dollars instead?

Sighing she tossed the pen back on the desk and made her way to the kitchen for a glass of water. As she was about to turn into the kitchen something caught her eye. There was a small bundle on her entryway floor.

She walked toward it curiously and stopped. Her eyes widened as she stared at a small stack of hundred dollar bills. Forgetting about the water, she sat down to count the bills before her.

Exactly $20,000. She counted again. The amount didn’t change. She walked out of the room and back in. The stack remained where she left it. Collecting it from the floor, she ran back to the little black book.

“A literal wish book?” She asked half to herself and half to the book. “I should have asked for a million…” she paused thoughtfully, “ or something abstract, like perseverance or tenacity to see my work through.”

She looked at the book with a sudden reverence. ‘It has to be a wish book,’ She mused. Convinced she was correct, she wondered how many wishes it would grant. Her mind wandered as she fell into a daydream. She had so much to consider and only a finite number of pages. Hours passed, as she thought of what to write, half consumed in possible limitations.

It wasn’t until dusk set in and the daylight started to fade that she realized she had been staring vacantly at a closed book. She scowled, scolding herself as she reached over to turn the desk light on.

She picked up her pen and flipped to the page again only to find:

Dream bigger. Goodbye.