I sit here, cooped up. I never get to leave my little hole in the world. I only move when you bump into me. I wait and wait, never getting a turn, never getting a chance. I am just as food as the others! Just pick me and I will show you. I can do better than all those others! But alas, you won’t come near me. I am not stylish enough for you. You assume I cannot glide as well as the others because I do not have some fancy design showing off my sleek body. I am just to plain for you. Why can’t you just try me out? I am worth so much more to you working than I am lying around.
“HEY!” Oops. I never meant to speak aloud. Great! Now you are looking for me. You look so puzzled and bit confused and nervous. I wonder what you will do or say when you realize it is me talking.
“Over here!” you look again.
You speak, “I am hearing things.”
I’ll respond. “No you are not. Look over here.”
Oh my goodness! You are looking at me! You speak again.
“My pencil is talking to me. I really have been losing my mind this last week.”
“No, you are not.”
“I’ll go with it, I guess. How are you little green pencil?”
“Pissed!” Oops, I did not mean to snap at you. You look taken aback. I will continue quickly. “You never write with me. I feel useless. I am tired of feeling useless.”
“I am sorry.” You say. “I will write with you now. I will use you to write in my journal about this strange encounter I am having. Clearly, I am nuts.
You pick me up. You are writing with me. You are actually writing with me! You are writing how crazy you think you are and how it all needs to end. But you are writing with me. I do not care if write how much you do not like my color, as long as you are writing with me! I am so happy you writing with me.
You know, you used me to write some pretty strange things. You wrote that you have been feeling really crazy and that too night it went too far. What does that mean? Are you okay?
I will yell for you and ask. “Writer! Where are you?”
What was that noise? Did something explode?
Several days have gone by since you were last in this office. Now, there are other writers here. They are using their own pens; they will not want to use me. But you can use me whenever you return. These other writers keep saying a word I do not understand. Suicide. I wonder what that means. When you come back, I will ask you. I miss you writer.