The Life of the Pen

By: Susanna Granieri

The world grew darker as the pen continued to write. Letter after letter; word after word. The seemingly blank pages became no more than scribbled messes. Incoherent thoughts flood the pages frantically, and the pen attempts to reorder the story at hand, but pieces are missing.

Pivotal pieces– gone. The pen searches for answers and for the remaining thoughts to finish the puzzle. But, this story cannot be completed, as the answers are elsewhere.

In this story, the pen is me, and the answers to fill in my blank lines and missing pieces are held by others. I would love to ask what I should do, or how I should handle this situation, but I am banished from this knowledge.

The existence of drought, of hate, of torture. What does it gain? Power? How can someone elses hardship fuel the fire of life? The secrets and the lies to hurt another– an ungodly characteristic.

Life, your heavy hand almost grabbed me again, but this time, I am smarter.

This time, you forgot the power of my mind. The power of investigation and loyalty trumps any goal you might have wished to achieve.

I am smarter than you, and I am better than anything you will ever become. Because life, you are just a teenage girl, and I am a woman of better standards and intelligence for the games you play.

Life, re-evaluate your level of institution over me, whilst understanding how unimportant and meaningless you are with your twists and turns. I chose my own path, and I’ve won.


A version of this post originally appeared in “Clarity” The Teller May 2019 Issue 6

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