The Notes

Chelsea O’Connor sighed with frustration as she threw the last piece of paper onto the floor. ‘What does it mean?’ She gasped, clawing at her forehead. ‘What does it mean? How can I find out?’ She turned at the sound of footsteps to see her best friend, Pauline, standing at the door. Chelsea exhaled.

‘Pauline, thank God.’

Pauline walked slowly inside, unsure of how to approach this crazy woman.

‘Pauline, you must help me,’ Chelsea shook her head desperately. ‘I stumbled on these.’ She gestured towards the papers strewn across the floor. ‘They had words written on them. Words and pictures,’ Chelsea continued.

‘Yes, that’s generally what you use paper for. Words and pictures,’ Pauline raised her eyebrows, ‘Are you okay?’

Chelsea blinked frantically. ‘No. No, I am not okay. The words and pictures weren’t just ordinary words and pictures, Pauline. They were notes; notes from me to…me. Writing notes! Stories, characters, locations, scenes, titles…you name it, I wrote it. But I can’t figure out what the notes mean! A drawing of a man wearing a straw hat; a farmer, maybe? It might not even be straw! He could be a character I created. Maybe I had a perfect story in mind, and because of my stupidness I can’t figure out what it was!’

Pauline’s eyes were wide as Chelsea threw her head into her hands and collapsed on the ground.

‘Chelsea.’ Pauline sat down and put her arm around the hysterical woman. ‘It can’t be that bad, surely? Maybe the notes and pictures will inspire you in different ways than intended!’

Chelsea looked at her. Pauline imagined a dramatic movie-like scene in which Chelsea had an epiphany and was magically inspired, all thanks to her best friend. However, it was not to be. Chelsea frowned.

‘No way! I don’t get inspired often,  these notes are important. I only write notes of ideas I think can become something incredible.’

Pauline bit her lip, contemplating whether or not she should speak. ‘Maybe you should leave these incredible ideas behind. If they were that amazing, surely you’d remember them?’

Not a smart move. Chelsea screamed; a deep, groaning, fed up wail. She grabbed a book and aimed at Pauline, who jumped up and raced to the door. The book smashed to the ground and Chelsea threw her head into her lap. Pauline sighed and looked at her sadly. There wasn’t much to be done.

A long silence hung in the room as Pauline surveyed the mess. That paper was ripped, that one crumpled… ‘Aha!’ Chelsea jumped up. ‘What?’ Pauline frowned. Chelsea was searching through drawers, looking for something. She pulled out an ordinary piece of paper. ‘See this? I remember writing this. It’s my note translation. Gives me an indication of what some of my notes mean. Look, straw hat means farm. Aren’t I smart? Now I can figure everything out.’