It was a Saturday afternoon, with the autumn sun shining through the forest trees, when I found the pen. It was lying there, partially covered by dead leaves, in its multicolored brilliance. For something that had been lying in dirt for quite a long time, it was quite shiny. I immediately bent down and snatched the cobalt blue fountain pen out of its hiding place in the brush. Looks old, I thought. Could be worth something. I’ll show it to Uncle James at the shop. I pocketed the pen and made my way back through the twisting path of the trail.
I casually strolled through the door to Trading Post Antique Shop, a little bell ringing to alert the store of my presence.
“Hi Uncle James!” I eagerly waved my hand at the tall man standing behind the counter.
“Hey there, Trent.” He replied, smiling at me. “Find anything for the shop?”
I pulled out the pen and put it on the counter. I noticed that it had an intricate design of what appeared a dragon curling around the side of the pen. I wasn’t sure why then, but it sent a shiver down my spine. Uncle James pushed his glasses up on his nose.
“Hmm. From what I see here, the pen isn’t worth much.” He handed it to me. “All yours, kid.” I was disappointed, but still had a feeling that the pen was worth something, did something. I sighed and climbed up the stairs to the second level of our shop and into my small room. I sat down at my wooden desk and dabbed the pen on a slip of paper. Navy blue ink stained the paper. Good, I thought. At least it worked.
I heard Uncle James’ voice echoing up the stairs. “Trenton, would you make a grocery list? I’ll be going out soon and stopping by the market.”
“Sure thing.” I shouted back. We were running out of bottled water. Water, I wrote on the paper. Suddenly, I felt a droplet of water fall on to my head and slide down my back. “Hm. We must have a leak.” I told myself. “Strange.” I continued writing. Oranges was the next thing I wrote. Something about the size of a baseball smacked me on the head and rolled on to the floor. I bent down to investigate.
An orange, a perfect orange to be exact. My mouth watered as I started to peel it. My mouth flooded with the sweet, citrusy taste of orange as I bit into the fruit. I glanced back down at the paper. It couldn’t be. I thought. I picked up the pen. Chocolate, I scribbled quickly. We didn’t need any, of course, but I was curious. I reached my arms above my head and felt something land in my hands. A big bar of chocolate. Again, the most delicious thing I ever ate.
The pen’s power got to my head. I started writing bigger things, better things. A mansion. It appeared outside, on a vacant lot near the shop. Then strange things, just to see what would happen. A dinosaur. I heard the screams. Money. Granted. Power. Granted. I became richer and more powerful than in my wildest dreams. I ruled the world.
The pen’s power gave me cars and many, many machines. I was young and machines fascinated me. Porsches, Ferraris, rocket ships. But machines needed to run on something. Gasoline? No, something better. Diesel fuel. I decided.
And that was when my pen ran out of ink.