Of another presence

What a pile of hogwash! Forget those philosophical existential nonsense. No one should be abandoned like this. Not even pens. Even if we are dispensable we deserve to be treated better.

This darkness suffocates and scares me. Voices, real and imagined, sound so clear and near yet so incoherent and far, they haunt me. The occasional encounters with other beings —beasts and trolls, I tell you!— taunt me with hopes and dreams of another day under the sun. This state of being puts me in chaotic state of mind. Please put me out of this misery!

Aren’t we friends? Should I remind you that I know your best kept secrets? I know what and whom you have plotted against. I know how you feel about such and such. I know what you did last summer and any other summers. I know your vulnerable spots. I know you perhaps better than you know yourself.

I am not threatening to expose your secrets. I am just desperate. I wish to prod you to do what you could do.

Get me, the other pen under the bed, out of here! Now!

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