i fix problem.
No, not surfing because..um.. I can’t swim!
BUT THE GOOGLEY EYED POST IT
(Disclaimer: I’m not a writer, but when I do write, I have tended towards the absurd.)
You haven’t really had the best of lives. Most of it has been stuck under a whole stack of siblings which isn’t exactly conducive to a good quality of life. But it could be worse. Twice a year “exams” come around and suddenly heavy breathing and other weird human noises (often made by one person, occasionally by more than one, they seemed happy enough doing it) is replaced with the scribbling of pens, less pleasurable groaning and a reduction in the weight above your head. It’s the best time of year.
Then, in summer - a quiet time for the life of a post-it, y’know - your little stack is lifted. A voice, a new one, is enthusing over you. A slight weight is lifted as another sibling is put to use and you finally see light.
You’ve never exactly seen a human before, but you’re pretty sure this is a good specimen. You like her anyway. In your time in the shop or Gary’s room, you have never heard anyone this appreciative of the work you do. You can’t even grudge her when she pockets you. This woman may actually put you to good use. Maybe she’ll give the curly-haired woman her number using you. You have heard enough in your time as a note-in-waiting to know that looks like those two are giving each other… phone numbers and heavy breathing follow.
A lot seems to be happening and life in H.G.’s pocket is a lot more… active than life on Gary’s desk. She spends a lot of time taking her jacket on and off and hitting people and flirting with ‘Myka’. Not that the latter involved an awful lot of movement, you’re just really hoping for that phone number.
You get better.
It’s not just a phone number, not even a phone number. It’s romance. You’re left on a gift, and the look on Myka’s face… this is the work a sticky note was born for.
KEEP IT. YOU CAN OWE ME.
She carefully tucks you away in a bag (you’re not screwed up, you’re handled as gently as the grappler you are stored beside) for the longest journey you’ve ever taken. You felt a flash of jealousy when Helena left you, taking the stack with her, but now you know you’re the winner. She’s not going to throw you. She won’t.
Six years later…
You’re a bookmark. You’ve been living in The Time Machine since Myka chose to keep you. You see light, and a face that is too often sad (maybe H.G. should have given her a phone number, she does seem to ask you where H.G. - Helena - is an awful lot), more than most sticky notes you’ve heard of. It’s a better life than it started.
But Myka takes you out of the cover this time, and she doesn’t look sad, but you are nonetheless nervous. Maybe it’s time. You hope she’ll at least put you in the recycling. That Pete would probably just chuck you in ‘general waste’.
No, she’ll surely recycle you.
She does. But not in the way you expected. She places you on a table, by a beautifully made meal, and a small silver band is placed on top of you.
And you finally see Helena again (you’ve heard her, but Myka hasn;t needed to take you out since she returned, lots of heavy breathing), and she is almost as enthusiastic over this gift as she once was over you. Almost. She also seems delighted to see you again.
"You kept it," she speaks softly, glancing from you to your friend of six year. "I don’t think it affixes to objects any more though."
"It’s done a lot more."