The light touches the corners of the crevice where I am kept, and a hand reaches in. This place is dark and crowded, but every sliver of light gives me hope that it will be my turn. I am never chosen … until now. Fingers touch me lightly before pulling me out. I shiver in delight as my lines see the light for the first time. The girl’s hand sets me down gently, and I feel hard wood under me. She smiles and picks up a pen.
I am eager, anticipating the possibilities. What secrets will flow from this girl’s mind, through her pen, and finally onto me? I can become anything. A story, song, or diary. It is all up to her.
I feel the tip of her pen press down gently. The ink seeps into my pores, where it will forever be. There is a pause, and the pen leaves me. No wait, come back! I cry. I wait nervously as the girl lifts the pen to her mouth. She taps it lightly. Don’t stop before you’ve even started, I urge as she makes a move to stand up. She scoots forward instead, then lowers her hand and lets the pen tip rest lightly on me. Her brow furrows. She’s thinking, I realize with delight. I wait with patient excitement.
She moves a fraction, then, all of a sudden, starts writing. Her pen glides across me flawlessly as she writes word after word. I revel in the feel and sound as she writes. Quickly my lines fill with the girl’s thoughts, but then, almost too quickly, she is done. She picks me up, looking at her work, and I try to catch as much light as I can, in order to impress her. But, despite my efforts, her shoulders slump in disappointment. No! Stop! I exclaim.
But she ignores my plea, compressing me until I am a wrinkled mess of what could have been. Then she tosses me aside, reaching back into what was once my home. Setting a new sheet on her desk she starts over. Leaving me forgotten, a mistake not to be dwelled upon.