Notebook

Its supple, black leather had allure. The way it could feel like velvet and butter all at the same time. That luxurious sensation provided a lot of interaction for the small notebook. Its spine still stiff from disuse loved being stretched as someone’s thumb splayed its pages open, releasing the favourable aroma of new paper and old leather. While these caresses meant a great deal to the notebook, it craved words. It burned with a desire to be written in, to become soft in the spine, creased in the leather, and filled to the brim with ideas.

It has been sitting on the shelf of this bookstore for an immeasurable amount of time. Keenly aware of the passing days, with its paper collecting dust on the seams. Hope fell upon the notebook periodically, when picked up, examined, stretched. Yet it was always eventually placed back on the shelf, empty. Other notebooks around it left, and new ones placed beside it. None with the energy it possessed, no others able to commiserate with it.

With the endless stretch of days, the notebook became more cursed. It's longing for creative writings stirred in it new abilities. When placed close enough to books, it found it could read what was written inside them. The sting of time became a little softer. Its hunger for words grew, its appetite to be written within was insatiable. With this growing passion, another talent bestowed the notebook. It could not only read the words of a nearby book but also project those words on its own pages. They never stayed long, and it detested the typed font they appeared in. But it was enough to sustain the notebook. Enough to keep hoping.

One bright morning the shelves of the store were to be rearranged. The view the notebook had grown accustomed to was changing. It had always resided at the front of the store, near a circular table of best sellers. These always had pages filled with interesting topics. Now it faced a shelf of literature on computers, technology, and web development. Anger grew deep within the notebook. Pushed away to the back of the store, left to be forgotten, stored amongst its nemeses – the books of the modern world, a world forgetting the craft of writing.

The sun rose and set. Onward, the steady march of time continued, oblivious to the notebook’s sorrows. Eventually, its need for words became all-consuming and it had no choice but to read the infuriating texts of technology displayed beside it. What started as hatred morphed into an education, which blossomed into an inspiration. The notebook devoured the modern works and with each passing day was able to strengthen its word printing skills. Soon enough it was able to write upon its own paper, permanently tattooing itself. The notebook then initiated its newly crafted plan.

Its pages marked, yet standing still with an unbent spine, the hibernation began. Waiting for the right customer.

The moment arrived. It was cracked open. The months or years were flexed out of its hardened shell with the turning of each precious page. It was abruptly closed and then carried! Not put back on the shelf, but lifted into the soft caress of the soon-to-be purchaser. It was cocooned in a plastic bag, brought outside into the sun, thrown upon a seat, lifted into a home, and placed upon a desk. The notebook had a person. She was a young woman with a small apartment, neatly complemented with an inherited old oak writer’s desk, complete with a wooden roll cage. She had and an obese orange cat that purred its affection regularly. The notebook and woman became intertwined over time. She became the notebooks world. They spent their days together seated at this desk. Often the large feline would stretch its girth out on the notebook. An annoying habit at first, but one the notebook came to love. The woman would caress the pages of the notebook, flipping back and forth between them, always furiously typing…typing…typing on her nearby laptop.

And so, its plan came to fruition. The woman happily carried the notebook home, a notebook filled with code, computer code. With functions, frameworks, HTML, CSS, and JavaScript, all laid out in perfect order. As a web developer, the girl knew what looked like the programming for an app, and more than happily entered each line into her computer. With each file and folder completed the vision became more complete. She scrolled through the notebook furiously at first, and then with less and less vigour. The notebook was not saddened by this however, it was content to be caressed by the fluffy orange cat, it didn’t even mind as its leather case became scratched, when creases formed from being bent weirdly, or when pages were torn or ripped right out of its spine. It savoured being in this new form, this beauty of being used, of being needed. Yet, the ever-present need to be written upon with new ideas, new creations, and inspirations, was always close by. Knowing the plan was nearly complete, however, the notebook did not worry.

One day, the woman embraced the notebook tightly as they entered a new building She shared words with some people all seated around a table, all eagerly listening. She opened the app for the world to see. It displayed the perfect cover of a small black leather notebook. The skin of the leather so new, it gleamed. Its soft texture so perfectly emulated, it begged to be touched. She swiped her finger from left to right on her iPad and over the animated notebook’s cover. In return, the notebook fluttered open with the sound familiar to any book lover – the waterfall flourish of a thumb flipping through all those delicate pages. The sound was so crisp, so clean, one could almost smell the enchanting aroma of that fresh book smell. The screen landed on an open page somewhere in the middle of the notebook. Here, a cursor flashed | | | | | |

The notebook held its breath, waiting for the first flourish of creativity to begin. As she typed out a sentence to demonstrate the app’s functionality to the crowd, the notebook beamed a radiant joy. Finally, it was being filled with words, used with purpose, and soon to be enjoyed by millions. As the users enjoyed the app, the book’s appearance would change. The more often it was typed in, the more the leather cover would show its use. Creases would form, pages would become rumpled and brown with age. It would appear to be loved and enjoyed.

The people gathered loved the notebook’s app. They agreed on the selling price of twenty-thousand dollars. The young woman gladly accepted the offer and walked out of the office with her notebook. The black leather cover proudly showing its deep creases, its claw marks, and its rumpled pages. It finally sat comfortably in its skin, knowing it was and will continue to be, used for endless creative purposes.

THE END