Short Stories

All Alone

No one uses me anymore. I have been sitting in the attic alone, covered in dust and spider webs. My only companions are the mice who make nests on my keys. I am rusted, my keys are stuck, and my paper is rotten and torn, eaten away by bugs and mice.

I remember what it was like years ago before electronic versions of me were made. I remember I always sat on the desk in the living room. I remember my owner. She was lovely, with a wild imagination. She wrote every day, never out of ideas. From a romance between unsuspecting lovers to a world far, far away to a tragic death.

Every day was a new adventure until it wasn't. One day she didn't come to write. Then she didn't come the next day. Or the day after that. Days or weeks passed before I finally saw her. But she didn't sit down to write. She picked me up and carried me away. I thought we were going on an adventure for new inspiration. But instead of going outside, she went up until we reached an old-looking door. Inside was dusty and crowded, boxes piling up in groups. She walked to the back of the room and set me down on a box then left.

I don't know how long it has been since then, the only window is covered by boxes. It could have been days or years since I last saw her.

Wrote this for a school assignment, hope you enjoyed. Have a good day!