A very long story
an excerpt

My story has already lasted too long. I should never have started it. Why I even bought the notebook is still not clear to me, but right there and then it seemed like the only thing to do. When I bought it I really didn’t think about it that much, since it well… it was only a little notebook. This story should stop now. I should stop typing and stop remembering. That’s the worst part – to remember.

The first thing I wrote in the journal was something in the lines of I must end this notebook now, or else my pen will break. To this day I still don’t understand what I meant, but that’s not the point. The notebook was usually in my bag, pocket or jacket – where I easily could take it out and look at it. Mostly I just looked at it. But then I lost it, and the feeling that crept inside me was shear and utter fear. That type of fear had never gripped me so hard, and I searched over the schoolyard until my fingers actually physically bled.
My name was called over the radio during a class, and everybody started to whisper as I got up and out of the classroom. My first thought was that they had found out I cheated on the exam. Then I wondered if I was going to hear that mum had been found making a scene on the mall again.

“The janitor found this,” the principal held the red book towards me like it was appalling him. I gasped for breath realizing I had held it from the second I saw it lying on his desk.
“Thank you.” I stuttered and took it “Where was it? I’ve been looking everywhere…”
“In my mail.”
He always sounded so grave. As he was tired of everything and just the existence of pupils was irritating and meant responsibility.
“What?”
“Someone had sent it to me, if fell down or something and the janitor picked it up. Neither of us read it…” He didn’t say it, but I knew that in his mind the words to the end were labelled into his forehead.
“Right. What the hell is going on?” My anger surprised me, but it didn’t look like it surprised him.
“Nothing is going on. Get back to your class.”
I stood rigid without saying anything. My hands clasped and mind working overdrive. I didn’t know what to say, a part of me wanted to jump over his desk and carefully hug his neck, but the realistic part of me knew that the only thing I could do was leave.
But I could let him know.
“Have you ever made dinner for the queen?” I asked. The principal looked at me and I saw his eyes widen. He coughed.
“Sorry?”
“Well, have you?”
“I don’t understand… what are you –“
“Don’t you remember that part? It’s in the book.”
Before he could say anything I picked my notebook up and put it in my pocket.