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I don't like this pen. I like Jiajia in Xinran's comic painting "Doggy Jiaia forever lives in my memory". I want another story for the pen...
I was a pen, a sealed, solid-colored pen.
I know how much ink I have. It is more than needed for a hundred words but not enough to create a book of a few hundred pages. And I don't care if it would be a hundred words or a hundred pages. I like to see lines and curves coming out of my head, sketched, scribbled, doodled anywhere, even graffiti made on walls.
I do not make the rules. But I was often part of a game. Most of the time, I stay in a box. I like the box. It makes me feel safe. The only complaint is once every schoolday the box bumped so violently that I was thrown against the walls. At other times, I skate and dance on a piece of paper, I dash to the end of a straight line, turn the corner squeakily, rotate to make circles. Then I zigzag to speed up and jump, twisting in the air, followed by a nose dive to hit the "ground." Oh, don't worry, I have a steel nose. The nose dive I've just made leaves a stain on the paper, in dark blue, which is the color I've liked always.
I don't feel. When I am working, I think only of the tiny ink drops that flow out of my head. I guide every of them to fall on the right spot. I don't read either. Whether it is about love, hate, fun or misery, I jot down the words carefully. They are part of me and may last longer than I do. I know that one day I will be replaced by another pen and that it will move more swiftly and mess with less stains.
I was a pen, lived a life similar to any of my hundreds and thousands of brothers and sisters, a life only I know the difference.
[c]________[/c]
[c]永遠的狗佳[/c]
Source: [原創]永遠的狗佳 - 欣然愛小羽 |
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