The green pen stands in the middle of the jar with all the other pens, painfully aware that he is different.
The black pens stare seriously at the wall. They wait for their elegant ink to be used for the most important papers. Health documents. Wills. Professional disclosures. They stand regal and dressed in gold. They don’t need to be used much because they are in essence, to the point. They are by far the very best.
The blue pens are slightly more dull and wear loose white collars with blue lines around the front. These are the efficient pens. They are never temperamental with crying ink stains, nor do they refuse to work on principle. Just the other day one said to the other, “Old Black Pen is bleeding again.” The other pen nodded before shaking his head; this was to be expected. Often the blue pens are found shoved in purses, clipped to restaurant bills, or passed from business to customer without a second thought. They remain the cheapest most hard working pens around.
The green pen however, is different. What does one do with green ink? Certainly it’s not professional enough to be used by anybody with important documents. Clearly it’s not bold enough to be seen by people without glasses. Obviously it’s not dark enough to evoke poetic words of wisdom. The green pen stands alone. For although he is what his mother, the ink pad (now horribly out of date) once called “special”, he is also a prized possession.
With his startling glare to paper, he is not easily chosen by those that use the pen jar. Instead, he is treasured because he is indeed the only pen that one can be certain is still there. In a pinch, he is reliable and because of this there is no doubt in his security. One can’t always write with the best of ink, but as long as it’s available, there is a steady line of hope.
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