麻豆社

By Hannah Hope

Crowded, dark and dull. This prison has been my home for ages. I don't know why, I did everything I was told to do. I presented everything in the best way I could, but still I'm stood here waiting patiently. It's overcrowded here and the walls are covered in graffiti. Actually, I'm not too sure if it is graffiti or scratch marks that engrave the walls: evidence of previous escape attempts from others. Ahead, there is a rounded steal barrier, which offers no chance of escape, as it is always sealed shut.

I want to speak out, cry out, but I know escape is futile. That coupled with the muzzle over my stubby nose; I know I'll be here for many years to come. By that time I get out I'll be too old, too unfit, and unsuitable for society.

I am depressed, unfit and old. No-one ever pays me any attention. I'm rejected. I'm different, I'm lonely.

Today was a day just like any other, until I heard movement from the outside. Outside, you know, outside the prison. I heard hurried footsteps and a frantic voice cry out:

"The WIFI is down, does anyone have a pen?"

Wait a moment. Did someone just say a pen?! I'm a pen! This is it, the time has come, someone actually needs me. I've been waiting so long for this moment. 2019: the year I was shut away due to the rise of the technology.

Then everything happened so quickly. The roof was lifted from my prison and I felt something pick me up from behind. Before I knew it, the surroundings around me changed. A bright spacious room encased me; full of splashes of colours like the graffiti on the prison wall. I felt the fresh breeze against me. I felt free. I felt alive.

Then, I noticed a large object with numerous, beige twig things on the end. The twigs... a hand! It took of the muzzle on my nose; I could finally breathe. Glorious air. I was raised above the wooden oak table in front; it felt amazing to be taken off my feet. As I was upturned, I saw my long lost love - paper! It was a clean and as crisp and as white as I remember!

The tip of my nose glided elegantly across the paper printing words as I danced: effortless swirls and curls. The dark ink behind me dried before it smudged.

I felt rusty at first, but then I began to pick up speed, words splurging out of the mind and onto the special lined paper. Nothing can stop me now, as I begin to tell my story:

Crowded, dark and dull. This prison has been my home for ages. I didn't know why...