As the sky pelted its deluges of water onto the thirsty ground, the inside of the house was abuzz with a rush of creativity, brought on by the Notebook. The Notebook had a unique talent of seeing into every little thing, and finding something beautifully creative to think about. Her talent was hard to supress, and this meant she often forced the other residents of the house to join with her on her mental journeys.
The Notebook stood at the window, staring at a puddle, watching each individual drop of water land and send out ripples. To many people, this would be nothing remarkable, but for her, even this everyday occurrence held inspiration.
"Hey everyone, come look at this water! This water is great, can you see what I mean? Watch how the ripples come out from the centre, and keep on growing 'til they reach the edge!" There was an excited tone to her singsong voice.
Her outburst of song was met with the normal blank expressions of the other members of the household. Never had a day gone by without an outburst of creativity, and by now everyone was both used to it and sick of it. Eyes blinked, and no sound came out of the three mouths surrounding the Notebook.
The Notebook always felt very alone. In all her life, she had known nothing but the small room she was in and its three unnamed inhabitants. Her creativity was her outlet, a way of getting out all the pent up loneliness broiling inside her like a storm. Every time she wasn't appreciated, it cut her like a knife underneath her smiling exterior. If there was one thing she wished for, it was someone who would care, someone who wouldn't brush her aside as an annoyance.
Glancing across the room, she saw the others sitting down, paying her no mind. A single tear came as she listened to the rain, falling across her front page and onto the windowsill, leaving a trail of wetness on her paper. Another followed, and she thought about the similarities between her and the sky. With this thought came the realisation that no one cared, and she really was alone in this world. She longed for an escape, to get out past the accursed locked window, into the great unknown, with its grass and its sky and clouds. There was so much untapped beauty out there, so much to see and experience. So much she couldn't do.
Moving slowly, she went over to the table in the centre of the room, her hair flopping down her side, her front moist from tears. Who knew notebooks could cry? She's be wrinkly for days. Still, there was a beauty in wrinkles. They created a pattern unlike any other, a veritable artwork of changed paper. This thought gave the Notebook some cheer. With a newfound optimism, she realised that everything wasn't so bad, and even from the effects of her pain, she could find happiness.
There was a creative beauty inside everything for the Notebook. Now, she realised, she didn't need other people to appreciate that beauty. For now, she would gladly see it alone.