I knew I myself coulnd’t figure it out on my own. I decided to go to Brett. He was my friend and I had liked him, ever since i heard his voice, like the soft tinkling of bells.I got down the stairs, hitting things with the stick I carried. I recall what happened when I was a small child. Children would laugh at me. Brett stopped them, he was and is my best friend. I made my way down the street, counting the mailboxes. When I reached the sixth, I turned and counted my steps. I knocked on the door. Brett greets me. I hold the vile thing out.
” Oh. A Post-it note?” He asks, confused.
“Yeah. The filth. It was in my book! My book!”I say, outraged.
“It’s written in pencil…” He says, freeing my hands of such evil.
“I figured that much out. What’s it say?” I ask.
“It’s either illegible or I cannot read it. I think it might be a different language. Interesting…” He wonders.
“Brett, I DON ’T CARE ! This stupid post-it was ON MY BOOK !”
“alright. Maybe my grandfather knows” This gives me the chills.