The Little Black Book

Ordinary. That’s all he was, just an ordinary man in an ordinary life. He was called Edgar, he had an average salary derived from simple, mundane, tedious employment. His limited clock of existence slowly but surely tick tocking towards the inevitable darkness of his death. Of his forgotten life, should I say. Of course, who am I to judge? I am merely adhering to rules of everyday life too. I am merely but a brick, a fragment of this construction, this conceit that we call ‘society.’

All the days of the week were the same to him; no idiosyncrasy, no individuality. Nothing. Amongst the swarm of worker ants, he took the train Monday to Friday, no later than 9:30 every morning. Each miserable person, consumed by their own financial burdens, contributed to the heavy mass of tiresome flesh that occupied public transport. Each a meagre molecule dissolving into the solvent of society’s fortune, forced to endure the incessant turbulence of the excruciating demands of life. His car lay still, exhausted by the labour forced upon it. Every time he would try to start it , the engine rattled, coughed, spluttered. Then, lifeless. No, he wasn’t going to do this anymore; he needed change, desired it. Craved it. Then it arrived.

It was that Monday morning his life changed .He had his breakfast, the ‘usual’ of course: two slices of toast, just a dash of butter; tea, 2 spoons of sugar; with a perfect ratio of 2:1 of the milk and water. He placed his already loosened tie around his stained shirt which he had worn three days in a row ;tightening the knot . Convenient. He stepped out to what appeared like a normal day, only to see a mysterious figure all in black. His face purposely concealed by a top hat and a dark mask. His cloak veiling any hidden secrets of his identity, shading him from the outside world. He did not fit in, he was disproportionate to his environment. The man, for what seemed like a man, was in a hurry, there was no telling that, not looking back, shying away any curious glances from innocent passers. He was night himself emerging during the day. That was when he dropped it. The Little Black Book.

What should Edgar do? Should he pick it up? Should he approach this figure? Perhaps he should do none of those, perhaps ignore what had just happened and get back to his life. Back to his darkness. After all, he did not want a disruption in his cycle. He needed to get to work; his car wasn’t going to fix itself. The book however, this was not just any book. He was drawn to it. It had a light, almost like a divine ember whispering to him, alluring him, ensnaring him into its sticky web of mystery. He picked it up. He didn’t know why but he knew. He knew this was his answer.

5 minutes. He thought to himself. That is the time he had allotted to see what this book was; he was already late for his shift. Edgar quickly hurried back inside, shuffling his feet, shutting the door behind him. He sat in his armchair. He took his shoes off. He opened the book.

All pages were blank. Apart from one. Engraved in ancient ink, it recited: “ask and you shall receive, what you seek you shall deceive.” Well, that was a waste of time. He chuckled lightly to himself. What a load of rubbish.

He missed the commute and had to get the 10 o’clock train. The day continued as it normally did; lunch at 12; finish at 6; dinner at 8. When he finished his dinner, he paused, briefly looked at the closed book, sighed and went to bed.

The next morning it was open. This time on a blank page, his pen loyal by its side. His arm inched closer to the pen. Bewildered, he moved closer to the book. Perhaps there was more to it that meets the eye. He smiled. This was silly. He knew it was silly but he did it anyway. He started writing. Ask and you shall receive. What you seek you shall deceive. Ask, receive. What you seek. He mulled over it, wondering what it all meant. He was writing now. Everything that he seeked. He seeked happiness; he seeked a new car; he seeked a life where he was surrounded by joy; by a society that was free, less restrictive and manipulating. All he wanted was to be happy.

The book didn’t work. He went to work. Lunch at 12. Home by 6. Asleep by 11.When he woke up, 20,000 pounds was under his toes and a new sports car awaited him outside his palace.

Adam Newman