Megan Corbett

Motive

He wasn’t exactly sure when it had happened. Had he stumbled across the book? Had the book stumbled across him? He couldn’t remember a time without it, before it, a time when it wasn’t stuffed in his back pocket or cradled in the crook of his arm. What he did know, quite certainly, was he loved that little black book. He could whisper his secrets to it, let his sadness drip onto the pages and then, like magic, he’d feel better.