What is your name?

What…

What is your name?

The man stared at the words forming on the page in front of him. He closed the small black notebook for a moment and took a deep breath. Insanity finally found him, he decided.

He opened the book again to the first page. The words were still there. Waiting for a response.

With a shaking hand, his name was etched with a black ballpoint pen he found in his jacket pocket. That pen and a few coins were all he had to his name now.

The man waited. Nothing seemed to happen. He exhaled in relief.

He did not know how long he could keep going this like. With a swift flick of the wrist the book was thrown on the grass in front of him. Small specks of water began to decorate the book’s leather cover. The man squinted up at the dark clouds promising more rain to come.

The few other inhabitants of the park had now gone. No witnesses to his latest slip into madness.

On the leather cover small gold weavings started to spell out his name.

“Oh my God…” he whispered, running his finger across the name on the book. His name. His name written with bold flourishes and a style he had only seen on fairy tale movie posters.

He took a deep breath and opened the book again. More words were forming.

Tell me your dream. And it will be true. But the more you ask, the more taken from you.

Certain to wake in a hospital room tied to a bed, the man laughed. At least he would be happy for a moment from this most incredible dream.

It was only two weeks ago his world finally came to an end. Losing his job, his partner, children and home, he started to walk aimlessly trying to find his next path. Unwashed and shunned, he found a home in this park and spent his days watching the world pass.

“Money.” He uttered as he carefully printed the word. He closed his eyes and the book. His name disappeared from the book’s cover. The wind picked up and the rain settled in. A leaf hit the back of his neck and fluttered about.

But this was no leaf the man discovered. It was a five dollar note.

The man laughed again.

“Well thank you God or the Devil! But I don’t think five dollars will fix my life!”

The man picked himself up and started to make his way towards the bottle shop. The wind pulled at the book in his hand and flipped the pages about. Protectively, he hugged the book as he edged towards the park gate.

The book hummed. A soft hum that resonated throughout the man’s body. Frantically he moved towards the shelter of a tree and opened the book again.

Who was your first love?

Memories of meeting his wife danced in his head. Their first shy glances and their first kiss. Their first embrace.

He smiled and for a moment ignored the pain of the recent past. He felt calm as he wrote down her name in the book. More convinced now this was all but a dream.

Closing the book, he squinted at the sun now peering from behind the clouds. The rain and wind had stopped. The man wondered if he had passed out. That would explain that vivid dream.

He took off his heavy jacket and shook out the water. But instead of water, money fell out of the jacket pockets. After chasing the escaped notes, he sat down on a park bench and inspected the rest of the jacket. Each pocket was filled with money.

The man gasped and started to count.

“$20,000” he croaked, once the final note was found. He had never seen so much money before. He laughed to the sky and in a mad cry praised every God he could think of. Everything will be back to normal.

The man spotted a hotel across the road from the park and limped through its doors, leaving muddy footprints and a rancid stench in his wake. The attitude of the staff soon changed, each receiving a hundred-dollar tip.

The scalding shower seemed to burn away all that had happened, but he embraced the pain as hope this was all real. As he laid down on the clean white sheets, he clung the book to his chest and closed his eyes to sleep. A genuine smile on his face for the first time he could remember.

It was morning when the man woke. He did not know if he slept for several hours or several days, but there was the unmistakable welcoming smell of bacon and eggs behind his door. As he devoured his first proper meal in weeks, he realised he still held the book, tucked in between his elbow and stomach.

Between sips of coffee, he opened to the first page and read the few simple words that changed his life. The book hummed and he saw new words appear.

Do you have children?

His smile dropped as he remembered their terrified faces the day when they parted ways. Tears running down his cheeks he picked up a hotel pen on the desk and wrote a simple ‘YES’.

The man closed his eyes. There was a knock on the door.

“Sir, do you wish visitors today?” a gentle voice asked.

“No, please no visitors today” the man replied. “They would be after my money.”

The man stood from his desk and walked over the window. The window spanned the entire wall of the penthouse apartment and overlooked the city. The most expensive apartment in the city, he was told.

Each day money kept on pouring in. At first it was a lost briefcase, then an unknown relative passing away. Then missing stocks and several lotto wins. No police came to his door, and no government agencies questioned his new found luck.

Each night he would sit with a drink and stare into the fireplace. His black note book sitting on his lap. Each night he would decide that was enough, no more note book and no more answers. But each night the man was compelled to continue replying to the book.

The book was nearly full now and he feared what would happen if he reached that last page.

He threw the pen into the fire. No, tonight was the last night. He would read the book one last time then burn all evidence of his luck and success.

Flicking through the pages, he smirked and chuckled at some of his responses. He tried to trick the book at times and answer questions with questions. That did not seem to work. It was only when he answered truthfully about himself that his wish was again granted.

As he skimmed more pages, it dawned upon him that he could not recall answering many of these questions. More so, he realised he did not recall answering any of the questions that gave rise to money coming his way. Pages and pages of questions answered in his own handwriting, but he just couldn’t recall the details of the answer.

Did you have a pet?

‘YES’. The man thought hard – did he have a dog? Yes, surely it must have been a dog.

Have you ever lied?

‘YES’ – well everyone lies, he smirked to himself.

Have you ever stolen?

‘YES’ – well that must’ve been when he was but a boy, he thought. Everyone steals something as a child.

The man flicked to the beginning of the book. The first page was water damaged and only half of the questions were readable.

“Do you have children?”

‘YES’

The man stared hard at the page and laughed.

“Of course, I have children! I have not forgotten that!”

He stood up and peered across the mantlepiece, then raced to each room and searched each shelf. No photos were found.

“Children…” he uttered as he ran back to the book.

Who was your first love?

The man squinted at the rain smudged words of his reply but could not make out the name.

“I must be tired!” he exclaimed, and threw the book on the floor.

He closed his eyes to collect his thoughts and realised all was a blank. He recalled clearly what he did today, but did not remember much before being in this apartment. He found money in a park, yes, $20,000. He later bought that hotel and gifted it back to the staff who helped him that day. Or did he lie about that?

He reeled his head back and to the side, opening his eyes at the open book. Chills ran down his spine as he read the first question on the open page in front of him.

Have you killed?

‘YES’

He snatched the book and carefully read through its entirety for any clues to what that answer may have implied. Some questions had faded, but for all the ones he could not recall answering that remained, only one answer was found.

“YES! YES! YES!” he screamed, “All I write is bloody YES!”

Sobbing and shaking, he stared at his hands. Were these hands of a murderer? Or was it just self-defence? Perhaps it was the pet? Perhaps the dog was hurt and he killed to be kind?

He reached the past page and saw the latest question waiting his response.

Who are you?

He screamed. Because he did not know.