Hello, Mister?

I want to call him and tell him I can’t find the pen.

Call him and make him aware of the great havoc the loss of this pen has caused. How this pen, this moment of confusion, of loss, of pure and utter desperation will mark me for the rest of my life just like those moments of great tragedy or beauty normally mark a persons life.

But what would I do?

What would he say? He’d be kind and concerned, say all the right things, this pen would become alive to him too.

But of course – I was stupid.

Stupid and selfish.

There was nothing wrong at all. It was just a pen.

I could use the other that lay beside my hand. It was just a pen.

I’d be so sure then, so sure and embarrassed at my own stupidity and want to disappear. I’d hang up the phone apologetically, criminally as though I had tainted myself shamefully. Stand dazed for a moment. Lost in my thoughts and immersed in my own feelings of embarrassment and wonder at the pathetic situation I myself, along with my pen, had become.

Then I’d sleep. Immediate sleep. Just for a while. Short enough to have not slept the afternoon away, but long enough so that when I awaken I’d find myself wondering only vaguely about the pen – had it been a dream?

Undoubtedly, his voice, that must have been a dream, my panic – my, how pathetic that really was, it mustn’t of been real.

But I know, that the sickness I had tried to sleep off will surround me and flood me as I realize, it had all been real. So instead, I sit. I have a period of thought. Debate whether or not to call, whether or not I need this pen (clearly, I don’t) and then rise once again and search frantically for this missing part of me.

I’ve become distracted, and entered another room (why this room?).


The phone. It’s ringing.


I race to answer, but someone already has on the other line.


I place it down quickly; I feel intrusive and sordid.


The words I heard the voice speak are being sung repeatedly in my mind. What did it say? – did you happen to see.. no, don’t be silly, I mustn’t of for I wasn’t there.


But then, it wasn’t meaning me who they had been speaking to.


It is in these moments that thoughts must be gathered. I feel something is missing. I’m not sure what.


Did I get up to look for it? I can’t decide.


I return to my first room. The pen. I’ve lost the pen.