The Unspoken Gift

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Layla, Happy birthday too you. And many more!!!!” Everyone Layla knew gathered around the table singing “Happy Birthday” to you. She had the biggest smile on her face as she watched all her friends and family.

“Make a wish, sweetie!” Her mom said, smiling down at her 18 year old daughter. Layla followed her mom’s instructions, closed her eyes and blew out her candles.

One by one, she received gifts and opened them. She smiled and said “thank you” at each person who gave her a gift. So far, she received jewelry, bracelets, gift cards to her favorite stores at the mall, beauty products, and money. She still had a few more presents to open.

Next box she received was small in width and height. It was the size of a sheet of paper but weighed as though it was a laptop. She looked at it closely, curious as to what it could be. Slowly, she unwrapped the pink and blue wrapping paper and bow that sat on top. She careful looked at the unopened box, unwrapped, and started undoing the flaps.

At first confused, she took out the smooth black book and realized it was a notebook. The biggest smile took over her face. She’s needed new journals for the longest time now, but everyone told her they were useless.

She looked around the room, realizing she doesn’t know who gave it to her. She shrugs it off, concluding that she will thank them later. The last few gifts included clothes, books, and a camera.

She beamed with happiness, knowing that she has had the best birthday she could ever have. All of her friends and family came down to their house to celebrate with her. But the best thing that stood out to her was her age: 18 years old. She smiled even wider realizing she only had a few months left of school, 3 to be exact.

As the day went on, she came and left the party until there was only her, her mom, and her dad left in the house. Cleaning up, she sees the little black book, remembering she never thanked the person who gave it to her.

She looked up with furrowed eyebrows, confusion clouding her features. “Mom, do you who gave me this? I never got to thank them.”

Her mom looked up from cleaning off the table and walked over to get a closed look. Examining the book, she shakes her head, and continues to clean off the table. Layla goes and asks the same thing to her dad, only to get the same response.

•••

The days pass on, coming and going. It’s been three months since Layla’s birthday, and since that day, she has not been able to take her eyes off the little black book.

Something’s off about that thing.

She continues to say in her head; however, she can never figure out what. But, despite her thoughts, she opens up a blank page in the already half-filled journal.

She starts to write about the days events but stops. Instead, she titles the page:

How To Get Out

She pauses, looks at the words, and starts writing on the next line.

1) Steal money from my parents

2) Run away

As she writing her third bullet point, she looks down, thinking something’s wrong. She flips over the book to the cover and sees nothing so she continues to write.

“Ahhhhhh!!!!” Suddenly, she whips her head up, surprised by her mom’s voice, she rushes down the stairs to see what the commotion is.

“What is it?” Layla asks once she makes it to the bottom of the stairs.

“Someone stole my purse. It had all of my cash in it. All $10,000 that I took out to buy a car, gone.” Layla looks shocked, thinking that it could have been her fault.

She quickly dismissed that thought. There is no way it could’ve of been my fault. I wasn’t even near her purse.

She looks at her mom once more before returning back upstairs. She flips through her journal looking at everything she’s written so far.

Wishes that she wants, things she wants to happen to people she doesn’t like, and how she wishes everyone and everything around her were different.

•••

Meanwhile, a few houses down, a little black book, one identical to Layla’s, sits on a little brown coffee table waiting to be written in. The owner of the little black book sits down on the couch next to it and begins to open it up to the next blank page.

“Dear Layla,

I hope you understand what you are doing because you are causing danger to those around you. Please stop writing...before it’s too late.

Sincerely,

Jackson”

Jackson sets down his pen for a second then picks it up again. And begins to write:

Layla will realize her decisions and her mind will change. She will not understand what is happening, but she will see her world crumbling before her eyes. The more she wishes, the more things die. Layla will be the last thing standing in her nightmare.

After finishing up the last sentences, he closed up the book and waits.

•••

Saturday.

The day everyone loves because NO SCHOOL. For Layla, it’s the same.

She opens her eyes then closes them. She opens them again and looks around her room. There’s 10 days of school left for her, then she’s done.

She’s running away today, she concluded.

No more staying her.

Although her thoughts have remained the same, she’s noticed a change. Something’s changed, yet she doesn’t know what.

She continues her day as normal, without a care in the world. Only this time, she does care. She questions her situation: whether she should go through with her plan or not.

But then she realizes it’s too late. Her mom lost all of her cash, she’s helpless, and Layla can do nothing to help.

So with that thought, Layla grabs a bag, purse, and shoes. She stuffs a bunch of clothes and other necessities she will need. She decided to leave before her mom comes home from her lunch break.

I can do this. I WILL do this.

She chants to herself. With that thought, she walks out of her house.

She doesn’t know where she’s going, but she continues to walk.

A few hours later, she winds up at a run down hotel and goes in. On the far right wall, there’s a reception desk, and on the wall opposite, there’s a tv.

She looks up and realizes 10 of her classmates were found dead this morning. The same classmates that she wanted to disappear.

And the same day that she ran away.

With frightened eyes, she walks up to the reception desk and gets a room and key.

Throughout her whole way up to her room, she feels like she’s being watched. But every time she looks back, she sees no one.

This feeling continues throughout the whole night, and when she wakes up, she still has the same thoughts in her mind:

What is going on? What have I done.