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    Autobiography of A Pen

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    Maryam
    This document is an autobiography from the perspective of a pen. The pen describes how it was gifted to a girl on her 15th birthday and became her favorite writing tool. However, after the girl's father passed away and the pen's nib became damaged, the pen was no longer used. It now sits neglected as the girl prefers typing on her computer instead of writing. The pen misses being able to express the girl's feelings and emotions through writing.

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    Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
    Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd

    Autobiography of A Pen

    Uploaded by

    Maryam
    132 views1 page
    This document is an autobiography from the perspective of a pen. The pen describes how it was gifted to a girl on her 15th birthday and became her favorite writing tool. However, after the girl's father passed away and the pen's nib became damaged, the pen was no longer used. It now sits neglected as the girl prefers typing on her computer instead of writing. The pen misses being able to express the girl's feelings and emotions through writing.

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    Pen

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    This document is an autobiography from the perspective of a pen. The pen describes how it was gifted to a girl on her 15th birthday and became her favorite writing tool. However, after the girl's father passed away and the pen's nib became damaged, the pen was no longer used. It now sits neglected as the girl prefers typing on her computer instead of writing. The pen misses being able to express the girl's feelings and emotions through writing.

    Copyright:

    Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
    Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Download as docx, pdf, or txt
    132 views1 page

    Autobiography of A Pen

    Uploaded by

    Maryam
    This document is an autobiography from the perspective of a pen. The pen describes how it was gifted to a girl on her 15th birthday and became her favorite writing tool. However, after the girl's father passed away and the pen's nib became damaged, the pen was no longer used. It now sits neglected as the girl prefers typing on her computer instead of writing. The pen misses being able to express the girl's feelings and emotions through writing.

    Copyright:

    Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
    Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Download as docx, pdf, or txt
    of 1

    Maryam Ejaz 1

    Sec-A

    AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A PEN

    I stood in the darkest corner of her enormous room, alone, with no one to talk to or even write to. And
    there she was with her new friend, unaware of my dejected feelings and hopeless state. But this is not
    me...This was never me! Nor was this the life I had imagined! Let me take you a few months back…

    I was a pen, red and shiny but had always written in royal blue. I was the gift from her dad on her
    fifteenth birthday. She used to be fond of me and used to take me everywhere, through people, places
    and events … I had travelled so much, through pages and pages of the feelings that lay inside her,
    through her writing. She used to call me her “Lucky Pen”.

    But one day, I remember her writing … writing harsh on the roughest paper I had experienced. She
    was crying and I could feel her tears on me. It was sad to know that she had lost her dad because I knew
    she loved him the most. But then, the most horrible thing happened when she accidentally put me down
    and dented my nib. That hurt! “Oh No!” she wept and cried even more. I wanted to console her, write
    “I’m OK! Really!” on the sheet of paper she had in front of her. But Alas I couldn’t because even though
    they call us mightier than the sword, neither can we stand on our own nor can we express what we feel.
    We can articulate what our owners feel or what they want but not about our own selves. So that was
    the last of her I had known! That was the last of Us!

    I enjoyed running over the soft and smooth pages of her diary, telling about all what she felt … made
    me cry sometimes, reading what she wrote. And that’s why I bled, and she went berserk at that because
    bleed is what good pens aren’t supposed to do, only if she understood why I bled!

    I loved being with her. “Lucky Pen” she used to call me and I was proud of that status.

    I am on the wait now for her to pick me up and give me some exercise. I miss reading into her mind. I
    miss being the first person to know what she felt. I miss her. She never even comes to me these days. I
    see her fingers flying over the black and white keys with her eyes fixed on the white flickering screen. I
    see they are her friends now and I am neglected. Although they print well what she says and thinks but
    they will never smell her hand nor will ever see her beautiful handwriting. They will never bleed for
    her nor will they think or cry for her …

    I stay in her pen stand, waiting to be taken in her fingers again, drink in ink once more and spill it all
    out for her … but I guess I will have to stay like this and wait in vain for the rest of my life!

    Pen!

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