The Precious Pen’s Owner | Short Story

The light was tearing the sky as darkness faded without a voice. The night must have had painful memories hiding in the overcoming light. At the same time, he used to leave his bed for the life. He was frustrated, irritated, and fatigued. Might be, he was just trying to survive. He had forgotten the meaning of sleep. He needed only that thing!

From the last two years, he searched the weeded backside of the police station. The path was same where street dogs used to bark aimlessly. Construction workers were constructing a hospital from the last two years, they watched him at same time with his papers fading behind the station. For him, time had stopped.

The story went on for some time, unnoticed and undisturbed. His parents were worried about him. On his way, a parking space, some dogs, streetlights, and his shop never meant anything. His destination had a building before it that had a board hanging, red and blue. This was where he lost his pen. It was his precious pen! His grandfather gave it to him.

A young man, he was turning, but sadness had him. His eyes had pain. His body wanted rest. His papers wanted ink. His mind wanted to speak aloud.

Was he really caring about all this? He desired that pen between his weary fingers.

The policemen made fun of him. He ignored. He simply asked them ‘Have you found my pen here?’

They answered him ‘How many time we have told you that your pen is lost and lost means it will never come to you.’ Is not it strange how innocence plays?

That’s how he tried to live. His thin body made him look like an old man. Earlier, he was in good conditions. He was unknown by everyone as he was a writer, a good writer! His writing was very intriguing, realistic and darkening. In early twenties of his age, his fondness for writing seemed a dream that would never have the wings. Is not it world like this? Scary, dark, and sad like him!

But, he lost his pen, the precious pen, which was everything for him. He gave up writing. As always sun rose up that morning, he went out to search. However, this day, he stood still for a while in front of his home but suddenly something stroked his head and he fell down. Were not things simple?

Then, he woke up! And, like a dead coming back to life, he insanely looked here and there. A new day! He could not find it. The pen! He asked the policemen there. There was no response. There was no pen. There was no another story to be written again!

That man told everyone that he was suffering. Was he really? He lost just one pen. A writer’s grace indeed the writing and he could not write without his pen. Was he right to care about a pen? Might be or might be not! There were many who thought that he was mad. The talks around did try to reveal him.

“Is he mad?’ said a guard.

“I think he is. Everyday, he comes here and ask us for a lost pen,” the other guard replied, and it was all they knew.

“Where is he? It has been a week and we have no sign of him. Are we missing him?” said the guard.

“We are missing him! Fuck you!”

The days went on, but that boy not shown a sign of him. There was no sign of him! Had he died? Was he alive? He did not get his pen back.

Nevertheless, one day he came and met the guards. His condition was awful. He was not able to stand properly.

“Have you found my pen? Have you really tried to find it?” he asked them. There was no answer. There was guilt on their faces. Why had they guilt? One of them thought to answer.

“We can’t find your pen. It has been lost. Go and buy a new one,” said.

Tears in his eyes! He turned around and vanished again. 


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