The Moonstruck Columns

Study Table Gossips

Well, I like to think that I can draw. Gosh! I better or else graphic design as a profession would be really disastrous. And I have a lot of stationery lying around the room which sometimes comes in handy if I want to show people that I am currently occupied and can’t talk to them. Although, I don’t always use most of them (even for weeks at times) and it is quite likely that they have something to say about this. By ‘they’ I mean the pens, the pencils and the sharpeners etc. of course!

The other day, I was in the other room reading Wodehouse and I heard distinct voices coming from the other room. I tiptoed to my room and peeked through the crack between the door and the floor and was met with a sight I couldn’t believe. I would let you decide.

‘Such a bad person he is’ said my fine-tip felt pen to the chunky graphite crayon.

‘I know, right? I have been here for like a week now and he has only rubbed the end of my head! Look at this, I look ridiculous. He should have had the courtesy to rub a little more and make a good-looking shiny patch.’

‘Oh no! It’s so much worse than a bald patch. It’s uneven. He never does a clean job.’

‘And I guess, you will dry out soon?’

‘Well, eventually I guess. I better be used than dried up. I don’t know which I will see first! I am meant to be thrown away anyway.’

‘You know,’ the graphite crayon lowered its voice to a whisper ‘I have reasons to believe that he is a psychopath.’

‘Really? What makes you say that?’

‘Well you know, I have a few friends on the recycling plant where they recycle pens and all, and one of the guys said he was the only survivor of this place.’

Tippy (the felt tip pen) was really attentive now, catching every word like a pro baseball catcher.

‘He said that he was lucky, he had scratches on his body,’ continued Chunky, ‘he said that our owner never throws out any of the pens because he loves to collect them after they have run out of ink. Probably even dissects them or maybe just keeps them as a souvenir!’ Tippy gasped and was literally shivering now.

‘And moreover, he is such a lazy guy, he just keeps buying us and never makes use of us. What does he think of us, stuffed toys?’ said Chunky irritated.

‘I don’t want to be a stuffed display-corpse without ink, shined and polished without my knowledge for someone else’s pleasure.’ Tippy sobbed.

‘Luckily, I don’t have to worry about all this, because I’ll be worn out before I am dead. No residues, you see. But what sort of psychopath collects dead pens!’ said Chunky matter-of-factly.

‘My ink is running cold right now at the thought!’ exclaimed Tippy. ‘I think I am going to slip out of his hands on purpose, lots and lots of time so that there are enough scratches on my body and maybe even break my tip so that he doesn’t feel the need to preserve me!’

‘Oh no! Please don’t say that, I love your tip! It’s a really pretty tip’ said Chunky affectionately. ‘Okay, I will help you break out of here but you have to come to an agreement with me!’ said Chunky finally coming to the point he was anxious to get at. He took Tippy’s silence and eagerness as a consent to elaborate.

‘Well, I know a decent ink-shop around the corner. Once we get out, we can have you refilled with ink and we can maybe… Umm… Go out on a date?’

Tippy giggled at the thought but her giggle was quickly replaced by a shadow of melancholy doubt. ‘But… But you said you will be worn out and dead to get out of here!’

‘Oh I have it covered. I can roll and slide down from the edge of the desk where it meets the wall.’ He whispered ‘If I fall down that abyss, he will never be able to retrieve me from there! I will find my way to you!’

They giggled and celebrated at this master plan. And amidst the sound of their gleeful cackles, there was another sound on the other side of the door – a blunt thud of my body hitting the concrete floor as I fainted.

P.S. This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

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