The dusty note book
Location: School library, late afternoon. Quiet. Golden sunlight through the windows.
Carrie sank into her usual corner seat at the far end of the library—the one half-hidden behind a crooked bookshelf and forever smelling faintly of old paper and lemon cleaner. It was the only place in the entire school that did not feel like it was pressing in on her.
With a dramatic sigh, she dropped her bag on the table, unzipped it, and pulled out a random, half-used spiral notebook she’d found wedged between textbooks in the lost-and-found bin. The front was plain black, the pages inside scribbled with a few doodles and half a class schedule, then blank.
She opened to a fresh page, clicked her favorite pen three times, and started writing.
Dear Whoever-Finds-This (or No One, hopefully)
" I would like to formally resign from being a student, a person, and a responsible member of society.
Please forward all further expectations to a cozy cottage in the woods, where I’ll be living alone with a grumpy cat named Maple, wearing oversized sweaters and baking bread that never quite rises.
In this dream life, there are no pop quizzes, no group projects, and no gym class. Only quiet, tea, and the occasional ghost (friendly, obviously).
Today I got a B+ on something I barely remember doing, got accidentally elbowed in the hallway twice, and ate lunch next to a kid who dipped his entire sandwich in applesauce like it was normal.
So yeah. I’m tired. Of everything. Of noise. Of pretending I’m not anxious 87% of the time. Of smiling like I’m not a walking question mark.
- Someone (haha not gonna say my name.. yet?)
She stared at the words for a second. It felt… nice. Safer than talking to anyone. Safer than texting her friends, who’d just send emojis and the dry “same lol.” replies. Carrie closed the notebook gently, slid it halfway behind a stack of dictionaries, and stood.
She wouldn’t take it home. That would make it hers, and she wasn’t committing to that kind of emotional attachment to a random spiral book.. note book. But maybe—maybe—she’d write in it again tomorrow.
As the bell rang, Carrie groaned in irritation and grabbed her bag. She walked lazily and gave one final glance to the shelf before throwing her head up in exhaustion and walked out of the school library.
