The package on my doorstep had my name, but I definitely didn’t order it. It was a brown wooden box that was packed carefully with the intention of delivering it safely to me without causing any potential damage to the object inside the box.
I had to put some effort into lifting that heavy box from the doorstep to the hall before checking what was inside it. Before opening the box, I checked all the sides of the box to get any possible information regarding the sender, like a name, place, or something that could give me a clue about where it came from. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find anything and felt like it was evident that the sender deliberately didn’t want me to know their identity.
The lack of information made my curiosity grow stronger, but it also sent a slight chill down my spine. Who would send me something this mysterious? And why?
I was alone at home, and the tension grew around my mind, exploring the worst-case scenarios possible, like the nightmares we see. I started questioning in panic, what if it’s some explosive material, some trap, a cruel prank, not even excluding the possibility of finding a venomous snake inside?
After taking a deep breath and coming to my normal mental state, I placed my heart in the wooden box to catch any potential sound coming from inside the box, but nothing stirred or made a sound as there was a dead silence. Alas, after gathering lots of courage, I opened the box slowly from its upside, which was marked with an arrow symbol on it.
It was something that I never expected; it was a big vintage typewriter with a digital word counter on top, along with other electronic components that were completely unfamiliar with typewriters I’d seen before, whether in real life or even in movies. It looked beautiful with its Oxford blue color and shiny black keys. Even though it is an old model, it was repaired and maintained in such a way that anyone would love to type on it to see how it works.
The beauty of this typewriter made me forget all the questions about this mysterious delivery package and the sender’s identity. There was a small drawer on the right side of it with the label “Instruction Manual.”
When I opened it, something quickly struck my arm with pain like a bee sting, pulling my hand back in shock. It was a small autoinjector that was cleverly concealed inside such that it struck the hand of the person who opened the drawer to get the manual. The device had been adjusted meticulously, ensuring the injection would occur the moment it was opened.
Looking down, I noticed a faint green residue left in the needle chamber, indicating that most of the mysterious substance had been injected into my body. My mind spiraled into chaos, torn between fear and confusion. What on earth had just been injected into me? Was it poison? A drug? Or something far worse, something capable of altering me in different ways. I could already feel a faint warmth creeping through my veins, like a slow, electric current pulsing beneath my skin.
Right next to the injector, I spotted a small compartment. Inside, there was a folded handwritten note and what looked like a user manual. My hands trembled as I picked up the note and unfolded it. The words stared back at me, sending another wave of unease crashing over me.
The note started exactly like this: “YOUR COUNTDOWN STARTS NOW!” My heartbeat skipped for a moment, my head started to feel light and dizzy, and my body temperature began to rise rapidly as if a fever was setting in.
The note continued - “Start writing at least 1,000 meaningful words before the end of the day for the next 30 days starting from now, without fail. After completing each day’s word count, you’ll receive one capsule that prevents the adverse effects of the injected substance from worsening. Failure to meet the daily word count will result in missing capsules, leading to an accelerated progression of the substance’s effects. This typewriter will track your daily progress, and any attempt to break, tamper with, or open it will result in destroying the stored capsules.
NB: This substance was custom-created in my lab with a unique formula combining a wide range of neurotoxic compounds and a slow-acting hallucinogen. So good luck if you try to seek medical help.”
My hands trembled as I read the final words. The typewriter wasn’t just a gift; it was my lifeline. After crying a lot and regretting the decision to open an unknown package, I came to a cold realization. Rather than trying to fight this or seeking medical support, which would only complicate the situation, and who knows if the person behind this is observing my activities, I had no other choice. The safer, and perhaps least harmful, option was to write those 1,000 words each day and wait for the next 30 days to see what happens.
Now, after making the most significant decision of my 27-year-old life, my mind started to question the motives of the person behind all these actions. I screamed aloud, “Why would someone do this to me?” “I have never wronged anyone in my life, then why me?” and more such similar questions to myself in complete helplessness. I have never felt so powerless in my entire life.
I’m someone who came to this new city two years back to switch my career from engineering to full-time writing. I’m still struggling in this big city, doing whatever small random work I can find, both online and offline, such as blog writing, copywriting, logo design, photo editing, and many others.
Is it because of some articles I wrote that might have hurt the feelings of big firms, leading them to seek revenge, or did I unknowingly make an enemy in my life? I began questioning myself again.
There was a novel in my mind that everyone in my close circle believed would change my life for sure. Some even compared my novel’s concept to the most interesting and captivating stories they had ever heard in their lifetime. But I never dared to start it, always waiting to make it perfect in my mind, or maybe it was the fear of failure. I actually don’t know the answer to that yet.
So now, the only thing in the world I can write 1,000 words per day on is that novel. That’s it, I made up my mind. I will start writing the novel in the next 30 days and give it my all, as it is my only chance to live.
It was very difficult to start writing as I didn’t know how to begin and spent the entire day staring at the blank page. By late evening, the fear of dying began to grip me tightly, leaving me no choice but to press those black keys. Slowly but steadily, the word count finally started to climb, one hesitant word at a time. In between, there were moments of mind blocks where I would stare at the page without a single thought form, but somehow, I pushed through. Twenty minutes before the end of the day, I crossed the 1,000-word mark, and a capsule was discharged from the drawer, which I ate instantly.
I have never felt so good in my life after writing this much. Was it because I finally started writing my novel, or was it simply because I was alive for another day? I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that the typewriter and I had just begun a strange, life-altering journey.
The next few days felt almost the same, with a similar effort, and completing the word count would often happen late at night. After one week, there was much more clarity on what to write, with ideas flowing more naturally and the storyline beginning to take shape. The hesitation and fear started to fade, replaced by a strange sense of purpose that grew stronger with every passing day.
After 15 days, I completed the 1,000-word count before afternoon, ate the capsule like it was my daily prescription, and continued writing until night. During the last 10 days, I was writing between 3,000 to 5,000 words per day and, more often than not, forgetting that my life was at stake.
On the 30th day, the total word count exceeded 62,000, completing the majority of the novel. Ohhhh, Alas! I did it. It felt so satisfying and surreal as if a heavy burden had been lifted off my shoulders. But there was another surprise along with the final capsule—a letter!
Finally, there’s something to explain the purpose behind this strange ordeal and perhaps reveal the identity of the mysterious sender. My heart raced as I unfolded the letter, unsure if it would bring relief or plunge me into a new nightmare. The sudden shock hit me like a lightning bolt while reading the beginning of the letter, leaving me frozen in place as the words sank in.
“Hey, sorry for causing pain, panic and confusion. Actually, the mysterious substance is not at all harmful or poisonous, and the capsules are mere vitamins. I’m someone who badly wanted you to complete your novel and look forward to reading that paperback with your name as the author. As someone who knows you well, there was no other way that I could push you to start working on your project.
You always keep saying it has to be perfect before you start writing, which might not even happen in a lifetime. As someone who has heard your story thread, I felt it’s criminal not to publish such a novel as it’ll be a huge loss for readers, both in losing out on the talent of a gifted writer and a truly compelling story. Hope you embrace the journey of completing your novel. All the very best for finishing it in the coming days.”
That’s it. No name or any clue related to the identity of the person behind this, and now my mind started racing through possible names. Could it be one of my friends who genuinely believed that my story thread was a masterpiece in the making? No, I don’t think they would go to this extent to get me started with my novel. Could it be my grandfather, who always encouraged me to choose writing as a career? No, I don’t think he’d put me through the initial panic and pain that this caused—it’s just not his style.
So, who could it be? The lack of answers only deepened the mystery, and yet, I couldn’t shake off a strange sense of gratitude. Someone out there believed in me enough to pull such a stunt, and maybe, just maybe, they were right.
I dropped the obsession of trying to find the person behind this master plan and arranged the typed papers, starting to read them from the beginning. Most of the time, I had been subconsciously writing, lost in the flow.
Ohhhh, as I completed the last written words, tears started rolling down my cheeks in overwhelming emotion—a mix of joy, relief, and fulfillment. For the first time, I saw the story I had always envisioned come alive, and it felt like holding a piece of my soul in my hands. At that moment, every doubt and fear melted away, replaced by a profound sense of accomplishment and peace. The major work of the writing is complete, and a lot of effort still needs to be put into its editing process in the coming days, but it’s not the same as before, waiting endlessly for the perfect moment to start.
The journey has truly begun!
The mystery of the person behind it all might never be solved, but their message was clear: stop waiting for perfection, start embracing the imperfection, and let the story breathe.
P.S. This is actually my first complete story. Thank you so much for reading!