Meetup – Theme/Number/Host: The Infidel Pen/#067/Alam
It was a lackluster pen, simply signifying its incessant usage. At least that is how she felt as she picked up the pen- a pen, an old one that had lost its shine. The pen had portrayed a lot. Some of her ingenious characters, some that fetched her the greatest accolades she never imagined. It looked shabby now; the pen. It had been a long time it felt festive, brimming with emotion it wanted to pen down-,ready to leak into its soulmate-the paper. She felt the same; sitting in the dark with the grim pen.
She stared into the abyss; an abyss that wasn’t dark. It was filled with colors , unlike the pen which only had one color- black. A colorful abyss, it was ironic. It had been a long time she was with someone, even longer since she was with her pen. The pen never complained. It was stoical. Everyone else did, including the characters she penned, which were now playing before her eyes as she continued staring into the dark, a never-ending void.
She dragged herself to pick up the pen in an attempt to write. She could pick it up, couldn’t write. It wasn’t her. It was the pen. She never ran out of stories, the pen now ran out of patience. It was angry. Loyalty has a price. The pen already paid on multiple occasions. It was her turn now. She tried to move her fingers on a piece of paper clutching the pen. She was weak. It slipped out of her grip and fell on to the wooden floor. She looked at the pen, lying on the floor, angry. She liked watching it falling, the sound of a falling pen. She picked it up and dropped it again. This time the pen roller over to the rug spread in the corner of the room, under the bookshelf. Her attention diverted from the pen momentarily. She stared at the bookshelf. All her proud creations were biting dust. So was she.
“It’s been a long time”, She tried to convince herself to pick up the pen and spin another magical tale.
“Yeah. It’s been a long time you slut” The pen mocked at her, signifying she needed another partner. The pen continued “You need one more so you can abandon me again”. It continued talking to itself.
“I do need one more”, She whispered to herself, desperately longing for another inspiration -another story to write.
“Probably the last time”, She continued. She knew she was too weak to pen anything else down. The one story she never told anyone, not even to her pen. That’s all that mattered now. “The world should know. Just one more. That’s it. Then it is all over” She kept making attempt to pick up the pen as she continued staring at her proud creations. She felt nauseous now.
“Yeah! One last time! You would be dead after that anyway. Just like you left me for dead”, The pen whispered.
The two did not speak with each other. She had one perspective, the pen had another. The pen was annoyed at the abandonment from her.
She picked up the pen. It freed itself from her clutch and rolled over further.
“I am not giving you another chance. Just look at those pieces. Do you know who created them? I did. I was the loyal one to the paper. If it were up to you, you would still be sleeping on the footpath. I created it all for you! You still slept, in his bed. You infidel whore!” The pen murmured.
“One last time. Just one more line”, She dragged herself further on the floor. She felt a nail tearing through her dress, lacerating her arm. The floorboards were coming off. She never noticed. It hurt. She picked up the pen. It tried to escape again, but couldn’t. She was breathing heavily now. She started writing
“My most potent possession. Thank you for everything you have done. I love you. My fidelity remains with you my …..” She could not complete the sentence. She was too weak to write. She was too weak to breathe.
The pen could never know whose name she was going to write. It could never figure out who her fidelity stayed with as she escaped the veil of mortality. It was still angry, even more anxious and slipped out of her grip which felt cold now. It rolled over to her books which were now biting dust.