‘Ena the Gel Pen’

Once upon a time there was a green gel pen named Ena. She lived on the desk in the house of a female writer. Ena loved spilling green ink in the notebooks, and she rejoiced when her owner rewarded her with a small kiss. Still, Ena feared running out of the ink before her writer finished writing. And so it happened that one day, the writer took Ena to her writing group. There, Ena met other pens who were nothing like her. They wore lots of colorful bling, sparkles and glitter on their thin bodies. Amazed, Ena thought they would accept her in their pen group, but the pens frowned at her. Ena looked at her thin, green body and noticed one small scratch. Male writers all laughed at her and said to her owner that her green gel pen is old, scratched and ugly. Hearing it, Ena whispered:

These pens and their male writers are evil

Men – men – men – men

One scratch and they see a bad

Pen – pen – pen – pen

They want me to die in the bin

Again – again – again – again

One of the male writers grinned and placed the alarm clock in the middle of the table for a 10-minute writing session. The female writer picked up Ena, twirling her between her fingers. Ena waited, but the writer did not kiss her. Sadness made her ink dry up. When the alarm sounded, everyone started to write. Ena touched the paper, and as her writer led her up and down, Ena’s thin nib delivered no ink. Suddenly, the writer shook Ena, but the bubbles of pain lodged inside her nib did not break. Ena did not understand the cruelty of her writer. There was no dried ink on her, but the writer still got up. She put Ena’s tip under the warm running water and then dried Ena’s nib with a rough cloth, hoping that she would write. When she gripped Ena’s clean and shiny body, Ena uttered a prayer:

Factory maker, make the ink flow

Again – again – again – again

Remind my writer the ink is the heart of the

Pen – pen – pen – pen

And heal me of the words of the wicked

Men – men – men – men

In that very moment, her writer must have heard her prayer. She kissed Ena’s thin, green body and then she placed Ena’s nib against the paper. The love of the writer for Ena popped out the bubbles of lodged ink in her nib. As soon as the bubbles disappeared and her wound healed, the ink flowed out of Ena. The writer moved Ena so fast, and with thin and precise moves, after only a few minutes, the writer finished a short story. The alarm rang out signaling the end of the session. To the shock of all, the female writer volunteered to read her story first. Warm from her writer’s tight grip, and joyful from the kiss that took her shame away, Ena recognized her ink as more precious than her ordinary body. And the story of the writer, dear reader, ended with a line that goes something like this:

When truly loved, a pen pours ink

Again – again – again – again

She writes with depth and not surface like most

Men – men – men – men

And true writers know ink and not the glitter makes a

Pen – pen – pen – pen