• When Robert was twelve he went to his middle school's book fair. At this book fair he saw a notebook that was flat black with a white insignia of a flame on it, the kind of thing produced for boys his age. Now, Robert fell in love with this notebook the moment he saw so he took the six dollars that his mom had given him and purchased the unassuming thing. He had a smile on his face as he walked through his front door, holding his notebook.
    "Well, somebody looks proud of themselves," Robert's mom said with a little grin on her lips, "let's see it."
    "Isn't cool mom?" Robert asked as he handed her his treasure. "Its so cool, don't you think its cool?"
    "Oh my, Robert, its the coolest," his mother responded. Its not like she particularly that it was as interesting as Robert thought it was but she loved her little boy and feigning enthusiasm was the least she could do. "When are you going to start writing in it?"
    "Tonight!" Robert practically shouted this announcement. He already had the first entry in his head.
    After dinner and a little TV Robert went off to bed, giving his mother his usual good night's and I love you's. He turned on his nightstand lamp and he began to write that first entry. He wrote about his day, his thoughts about certain aspects of his life that he thought of as important, and he talked about how cool the notebook was. He wrote like he was talking to a new best friend; he told that notebook everything about that day.
    Before that day at the book fair Robert had friends he would talk to. He voiced his thoughts in class, played at recess, and interacted with his classmates. After that first night Robert no longer spoke to his friends or voiced his thoughts. He didn't play at recess, he exercised of course, but never played. He stopped interacting. Every night after that first one Robert would go to bed with his notebook and write his every thought, his every sight, his everything. Robert would write from dusk until dawn, reliving his day in that notebook. For five years Robert did this. He would often have to order a new notebook from the company and he ordered the same one. He lived his life in his notebooks. He never spoke unless asked a direct question that had a definate answer, he never showed any emotion throughout the day, he didn't do anything with anybody. Robert didn't exist except on the pages of countless notebooks. His body breathed and ate and moved for him during the day but he lived at night as he wrote. No one talked to Robert either, sure his mother tried but after a few weeks she just kind of gave up. No one knew what he thought and no one thought about his notebooks. His senior year of high school was at an end. He had a scholarship to a college and an invitation to speak at graduation. No one expected him to speak but he surprised them all. He walked up to that podium, cleared his throat and began in his weak unused voice.
    "For five years now I have written in notebooks every thought, every feeling, every crush, every jealousy I have ever felt. I did this because as I wrote in that first entry an idea came to me. Live my life through this notebook, let's see what happens. I found that I had effectively distanced myself from the world. I was able to do everything that I had ever wanted to without anybody getting in my way or helping me. I lived my life in its purest sense. I had only my ideas to thrive off of. I experienced everything but at the same time nothing. I realize that my project was a waste, I realize now that I took it too far. I leave you with this my class, no matter what you take on in your future, never do to much. Never dedicate yourself to one thing."
    With that Robert left the podium. There was no applause, no cheering for encore, nothing. Everybody just sat there and did nothing like the other times they saw Robert, they were in shock. Later that evening Robert received his diploma and left. The next few days were frantic as they searched for him. They were going off of the last entry he had put in his notebook, his first notebook. It read: "I had saved this page because I knew something like this would happen. I know what I have done is confusing and rather pointless in your eyes but my experiences were purely my own and I need you to appreciate that. I'm leaving because I want to keep my experiences my own. Now that everybody knows what I have done with my life they will want to spoil it. I took my notebooks so nobody could know who I am, and nobody will."
    They never found Robert. He was presumed dead. However, twenty years after that graduation night there was an apartment fire in a New York City suburb. Nobody was in the apartment but when firefighters were able to get into the room there were stacks upon stacks of charred notebooks with little white emblems on them. None of the writing was legible due to fire and water damage. Nobody claimed the apartment and the landlord didn't know the man's name but that he had been gone for awhile.