Raye’s Extra Ordinary Life

Raye Doxon has a relatively ordinary life. She goes to school and work, gets her assignments done on time at the library, and enjoys her nightly movie marathons. But if there’s one thing missing, it has to be a sense of purpose. Something that enriches her soul beyond imagination and fills that void in her chest.

After a long day, she comes home to find a small black book on her desk, placed directly on top of her laptop. Confused, she picks it up, noticing a mustard colored post-it note placed haphazardly on the front.

Raye,

Found this in the mail for you. Not sure who it’s from, but it’s addressed to you. Got a lover I should know about?

Love, Dad.

Raye chuckles softly at the note. She hardly has any friends, so she has no idea who would have sent her a journal. It’s an odd gift as well—she’s not exactly the creative type.

She thumbs at the thin pages, flipping open the book to a random page, gasping at the images before her. Beautiful, intricate drawings of nature fill the pages, enriched with vibrant colors and bold strokes. Desperate, she flicks through the pages, finding more and more beautiful portraits of people she’s never seen, places she has never been bathed in gorgeous colors.

“Wow,” She whispers. Her fingers trail over the indentions in the page, awe coursing through her at the raw beauty of the artwork.

Who would gift her such a thing? And most of all, why? Surely this must be a mistake. This can’t be for her. She hardly receives gifts, and certainly never something so beautiful and thoughtful.

She flips back through the journal to the very beginning, noticing a small label addressing the book to Raye Doxon. So there’s no mistake that whoever sent this meant for it to be for her.

Confused and beyond dazed, she finishes her assignments and chooses to skip her nightly movie routine in favor of studying the drawings. There’s something so achingly familiar about the intricate details and nuances of the artwork.

She falls asleep like this, her hand pressed over a page like she’s trying to memorize the strokes.

“I’ve got a question,” She half whispers the next day, leaning against the librarian help desk in excitement.

Her only friend, Jason, looks at her with an arched brow as he sorts through a pile of books. “Shoot.”

“So,” Raye bounces on her heels. “I got a weird gift in the mail. It’s from you, isn’t it?”

Jason gives her a deadpan look. “Do I look like the gift-giving type?”

Raye laughs a little. “No, but it’s a journal. It has a bunch of amazing drawings, too. You mailed it to me, right?”

Jason shakes his head, continuing through the pile of books with a small smile on his face. “Why would I mail you something if I knew you would find it? You spend enough time here as is.”

Raye purses her lips. “True,” She sighs, before rummaging through her bag for the black journal, pulling it out to show him. “Just look.”

Jason accepts the book from her hands, thumbing through the pages with palpable interest on his face until it morphs into furrowed brows and a cocked head.

“This is blank, Raye,” He says carefully.

“What?” She snatches the book back, glancing at the page Jason was just looking at, and notices a gorgeous, intricate drawing of a cardinal. “Huh? No, it’s not, Jason. Look, it’s a cardinal!”

She slides the book onto the desk and points excitedly at the drawing. He continues to frown at the book as if it’s shapeshifted into something sentient.

“Who mailed this to you?” Jason asks a little sharply.

“Uhm, all it said was the Winderbrook Society,” Raye shrugs. “No return address or anything.”

Jason’s eyes light up. “Winderbook, huh? Why didn’t you just say so?” He leans over the desk with crossed arms, an excited glint in his blue eyes. “Guess you’ve finally been chosen. I figured it was only a matter of time.”

“Excuse me?” Raye blinks.

Jason grins. “Your purpose, dummy. That book right there… It has history, you see. It tells you what your purpose is.”

Raye blinks quickly, confusion swirling through her. A magical book that tells her what her purpose is? It sounds a little too good to be true. Way too much like something her teenage self dreamed of when she had no idea what she wanted to do with her life.

“You’re telling me a journal is going to tell me what I’m meant to do?” She shakes her head, laughing a little. “Nice one, Jason.”

“I’m being serious,” He says with a frown. “You’ve really never heard of the Winderbrook Society? Creator of journals that can tell you your purpose, your life story, and even your greatest desires?”

Raye gazes down at the pages with something tugging in her gut. A distant memory, an excited childhood friend waving around a small black journal with joy glinting in their eyes. Internet forums of people who found the books by happenstance, and how it changed their lives forever. Something she brushed off as too ridiculous—impossible, even.

“Maybe I did, but… I guess I just thought it was ridiculous,” Raye says with a light, comforting feeling of warmth swirling through her.

“Nope,” Jason says with a lopsided grin. “They find you when you’re ready. And I guess if you do what the journal is urging you to do, you get a reward.”

“A reward?” She perks up, gripping the journal tighter. “What do you mean?”

“It’s different for everyone. I’ve never been chosen, but my grandpa was told to become an architect. And once he did it, he came into a lot of money,” Jason whispers, leaning over the desk to gaze at the journal with a hint of longing on his face.

“Wow,” Raye smiles down at the journal in her hands. “This is unbelievable… I just—I don’t know how I’m meant to know what it wants me to do.”

Jason cocks his head. “Didn’t you say drawings were on the pages?”

“Yeah, but I’m not creative—”

A rush of memories swirls in her mind, bright, colorful memories she kept locked away. Doodling on school notebooks, coloring any chance she could get, and even painting during her art classes. Her chest tightens, memories of friends mocking her and teachers telling her she could never be an artist resurfacing, having tainted those bright years with anger and sadness.

She’s not creative, not really. Not anymore. But maybe she could be again. Maybe that’s what the book is trying to tell her. It’s bringing up something she hasn’t thought of in so long. Something she’s always dreamed of.

She flips to a page she hasn’t seen yet, gasping at the intricate, beautiful painting of her own father staring right back at her. There’s no mistaking who it is considering how detailed it is. Not to mention how much warmth and love she can feel in the strokes.

She smiles sadly down at the pages. Her own purpose, staring right back at her. The very thing she thought she could and would never do because of the people around her.

Maybe she’s been wrong this entire time. Maybe Raye really is meant for something more.

“Do you really think I could be an artist?” Raye asks softly. She’s not sure if she’s asking Jason or herself.

When she meets Jason’s eyes, she’s surprised to find a gentleness shining there. “You can be anything you want, Raye.”

Slowly, that fear shifts into something like resolve at Jason’s words. Why has she let this sort of fear control her and her life? If a magic journal is telling her she can follow her purpose, why should she let the fear of what others think control her actions?

Not only has her dad always believed in her despite everyone else, but Jason has too. Why should anyone else’s opinions matter?

A warm fire burns in her chest as she stares down at the painting of her father, her hands gripping the leather of the journal tight. She might have no idea what will come of it, but she’s tired of being so afraid and running from this. Finally, Raye feels like it’s time she stepped into her purpose. It’s time to make Jason and her dad proud and do something she’s longed to do her entire life.

Raye Doxon has a relatively ordinary life. She wakes up bright and early to spend time with her father. She practices painting and drawing in the afternoon, and then spends her evenings working on commissions.

She thinks she’s been working steadily on her purpose for the last year or so, now. Jason had told her this would happen, but the more she works and grows in her abilities, the pages of the journal slowly start to fade with their drawings.

The beautiful colors and bold strokes on the pages of the journal have transitioned onto her own canvases and thick paper. Not to mention how often she gets paint on her own clothes. She’s been happy with what she has and where she is, and now that she’s been working on what is genuinely her purpose, that hole in her chest has all but disappeared.

She feels thankful that the journal chose her. Deeply thankful despite all of the hard work and stress she’s endured to build her skills. It’s been challenging, but she’s been happier than she has in a long time.

Raye’s desk is exactly the same as she left it in the morning except for the letter placed on her journal. She picks it up carefully, exhausted after a long day of working, and freezes at the address.

Winderbrook Society is written in bold lettering at the top left of the envelope, addressed to her. Shakily, she grabs her letter opener and cuts it open, too anxious and excited to wait. Inside, she pulls out a paper-thin check, once again addressed to her.

“Twenty thousand dollars?!” Raye shouts, before slapping a hand over her mouth.

She can’t believe this. Twenty thousand dollars? Addressed to her, with nothing attached? She can’t believe this is happening to her.

She takes a shaky seat at her desk, focusing hard on regulating her irregular breathing and pounding heart. Her hands shake as she holds the check, staring at it in awe with a lump in her throat.

Finally, she can afford to rent out her own art studio and the supplies she’s always dreamed of owning. A lot more than just that, actually. She can help her parents, and even get started on the art cafe business that she’s been daydreaming about the past year. She can’t believe her luck.

Just to make sure she’s not being tricked, she pries open the envelope to look for anything else and finds a small folded-up note. She unfolds it with careful fingers, trembling with adrenaline still.

Well done. It’s time to pass the book on.

- Winderbrook Society

With tears in her eyes, she fumbles for her journal to open it, her heart stuttering to a stop as she notices not a single drawing. Nothing left in the journal whatsoever, not even her name that was addressed to her at the beginning of the journal. Nothing at all.

She lets out a watery laugh, sitting back heavily in her chair. It’s sad to see what she’s grown so used to gone. But she doesn’t need the reminder anymore now that she has canvases filling up her entire room just as they once filled these pages.

Raye no longer needs the constant reminder of what she’s meant to do. She has fully embraced her true purpose thanks to the journal that practically fell into her lap. Now, it’s time for her to pay it forward.

“Jason, you’re in for one hell of a surprise,” Raye says with a grin, wiping at the tear marks on her cheeks.