Casey, a quiet introvert and future femboy.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I rewrote and erased the previous rule three more times just to confirm the truth of it. The page of the notebook didn’t seem to deteriorate like a normal page would from writing and erasing so many times in the same spot.

By all accounts the book looked like a typical, ordinary notebook one could find in the bargain bin at a grocery store during the back-to-school season. Complete with the black strip for binding, and the classic black-and-white mottled cover that was iconic for such a supply. The only thing missing was any indication of a brand or copyright, and the only thing written within a white box on the cover was “The Rulebook” in permanent marker. There wasn’t even a barcode.

Further experimentation demonstrated that I could actually do little to destroy or rip the pages of the strange notebook. It resisted attempts to tear it, and any wrinkles that should have emerged from crumpling or folding it simply did not. I was flabbergasted.

But of course, my focus on the physical aspects of the notebook were only to distract me from the strange nature of the book’s reality warping capabilities. Before long, I could ignore it no longer/

Oddly, my first instinct upon finding something like this was that there must have been some mistake. There was no way someone could own something like this and just leave it here for anyone to find. But there wasn’t even any indication of previous rules written by anyone else. Just the neat handwriting on the note explaining its capabilities. Otherwise, it was fresh, and I found it.

In a weird way, given this information, the idea that it was meant for me felt right. Something told me that I would have happened upon this notebook somewhere, if not here in this coffee shop. That if I had ignored it and went home, it would be right there on my bed, waiting for me to notice.

So, fuck it, I decided to find out. I gulped down the rest of my coffee, got up, and left the notebook on the table. If my instincts were right, it would be waiting for me back at home. If not, well, I really wasn’t worthy of something like that. I stepped out of the shop with strange feeling of regret, but I ignored it, and continued my walk home, the caffeine guiding my steps.

The thought of the notebook plagued me on my short walk home. Just the idea of something like that was tearing my entire worldview apart. That sort of thing just did not happen in the real world. One couldn’t just write down something on a college-ruled lined page and it came true. That was absurd. And yet I watched it happen, several times. I wrote down that rule about the dress code and it happened, just like that.

Part of me wanted to believe I had imagined the whole thing. I would get back home, go upstairs and live a normal life. My cousin would have her friends over for that slumber party, they’d make a lot of noise, it would be distracting, I’d go to bed in a sour mood because I had school tomorrow and they’d keep me up all damn night. I’d complain to Aunt Elise next time I saw her; she wouldn’t do anything because Jennifer was her daughter and she was never around to do much disciplining anyway, and life would go on.

Before long I had arrived home, the café wasn’t too far away, and I walked inside. I was immediately assaulted by the smell of cookies, chocolate chip probably. Jennifer was getting the snacks ready.

“Hello,” I called, mostly out of habit.

“Hi!” I heard Jennifer call back from what seemed to be the kitchen.

I made my way upstairs immediately. I needed to do something, anything to take my mind off the rulebook. I would probably end up getting lost in one of my many fantasy worlds as I wrote. That’s what I needed, I needed to write this concept into one of my stories and bam it would be out of my system.

When I entered my room, I was struck with vertigo. My door opened to my bed in the corner and lying on top of it was a manilla package. I knew what was inside of it the moment I saw it. I stood there and just stared at it for a minute. It was about the right size, something square and notebook-like was inside it for sure.

I stepped over to the package, it had a sticky note on it in Jennifer’s handwriting proclaiming it to be mail for me. I wasn’t expecting any mail, and furthermore, the package had absolutely no labeling or stamps. There’s no way anyone would assume it was mine just by looking at it.

And yet, here it was.

I opened the package and took out the notebook, neatly labeled “rulebook” on its cover, and opened it up. Every page was blank, eager for an entry. Or was it me? Was I projecting my own desires onto this inanimate yet clearly fantastical object? Perhaps. I thought it more likely that I was just a victim of the same feelings any young adult would have given something like this.

It was a crucial time in my life, I was a freshman in college and the future lay before me in all of its glory. With a tool like this I could write my own future. In a way, wasn’t this something I had always wanted, deep down as an aspiring writer?

The possibilities ran rampant through my head. I sat down at my desk, removed a pencil from the cup in the corner, and laid down the rulebook in front of me. Then, I thought. I thought about the present, the past, and the future. I thought about what I wanted to do.