For Children

Samantha Campana-Gladstone and Victoria Semmelhack

The Life of a Pen

2013 3rd-4th Grade Prose Honorable Mention

I am a pen.  A normal pen - not one that anyone wants to buy.  Not a fountain pen or an eraser pen, but just a plain green pen.  Boring.  It all started when I was in a pen factory.  I was so happy with my fellow brothers, sisters and comforting parents.  But then I was sold, separated from my family, and put in a pencil cup filled with blue pens.  AAHH!  Blue pens were our enemies!  It still pains me to think about those treacherous nights in the pencil cup.  I spent all my nights hoping to be used, but my owner always chose the pens around me…..the fountain pens.  (sniffle..)

I always wanted my family to be proud of me because some of them had extra twisty-tops and diamonds on their sides.  But I had nothing, nothing to impress them with.  I always longed to be the hero of the pen era… save the pens from the pencils!  But the fountain pens were always the ones to run out of ink.  It was good to run out of ink because then we would die being proud!  But I was as new as a newborn baby, and had not been used since I had left the factory, my home, my lovely home.

As I was lying in the pencil cup, I noticed a small silver and blue fountain pen bobbing up to me, clearly seeing my sorrow.  In fact, she was the most often used pen and just to add, I felt myself blush deeply as she came closer because of her beauty.  When she came within hearing distance, I heard her whisper shyly, "you know, you're just as good as us fountain pens, the owner just doesn't realize that!"  "Um, thanks," I replied, uncertainly.  But just as soon as I said that, the owner walked by.  "Come on!" hissed the fountain pen into my ear.  "Come on!  It's your big chance to show you are as good as anyone else!"  But before I could protest, she pushed me out of the pencil cup and out onto the desk. The owner, hearing my plastic case hit the wood surface of the desk, said, "Hummm…..that's queer," stroking what was left of his clean-shaven beard.  He picked me up from the desk and started writing with me on a piece of paper to see if I worked.  When it was clear that I really worked, he said, "Well, now I have another pen to work with!!"  He smiled at me gratefully.  I was so pleased to be written with again, that it felt like I was being reborn.  When I looked over at the fountain pen, she winked at me and gave me a thumbs up!  My heart swelled up as though it was filled all the way up with joy!  

Sometimes it pays to be the simple pen in the pen box!