Short Stories

Thirty: Pen

Prompt: Each child in your village is chosen by a weapon at their coming of age. The deadlier the weapon, the greater the prestige for your family. You've been chosen by the pen. (Yes, this prompt did come from Pinterest. Deal with it.)

You nervously fiddled with a loose string that had come undone at the hem of your shirt. Today, you were turning 12, the chosen day. You were to be chosen by a weapon that would appear out of the sky and 'flash' into your hands. You were really hoping for something deadly like a longsword, mace, or a gun. Heck, you would even settle for a small dagger. Your family was notorious for having weak weapons such as scissors or even a fork. Seriously, your cousin had received a fork for his twelfth birthday. If you would get something at least somewhat deadly, your family could finally stop living on the streets.

The speaker at the front finally stopped with their boring speech and called all the birthday children becoming twelve today. You slowly sat up from the dusty ground. Your older brother patted your arm reassuringly. You nodded at him and walked to the front. You stood at the back of the line, hoping everyone would leave by then, but you knew that wouldn't happen. People always waited for your family to get their weapon for a good laugh before leaving the town square. Brandon, the first one, got a katana. The crowd cheered for him. He walked back to his family, but not before shoving you with his shoulder. The next person got some nunchucks. The line passed by quickly. The person in front of you got some hatchets. You stepped up nervously. You could hear snickers from the whole town watching. You held your hand out above the crystal blue glass pane, your clammy hands becoming even colder and sweatier. The glass glowed brightly. A large wind was swept out of nowhere and blew around you, creating a mini tornado. Thunderclouds rolled in and rumbled with anger. Lightning flashed down. You could hear whimpers and screams from the crowd, but you didn't register the sound as something began forming right in front of you. It glowed a bright white and formed in your hand like magic. Then, one more bright flash appeared before the menacing weather disappeared.

You blinked your eyes quickly to try to focus in on what had appeared in your hand. It was a pen. The barrel was a brilliant color that seemed to shift between every color possible, even colors that you've never seen. The pen cap was the same color of the barrel. You popped the cap off, unaware of the laughs coming from behind you. The nib was a shiny gold color that complemented every color that appeared on the pen. You experimentally waved it around in the air with a symbol you created in your bedroom that was to summon snow. The sign appeared in the air, shimmering an icy blue.

It exploded and a light cover of snow fell from the sky. A snowflake landed on your nose. You laughed at the delightful coldness. Brandon stomped right up to you and snatched the pen away.

"Hey!" You cried out. He laughed at you. "This pen belongs to me now! Here, have my katana." He cackled as he held the pen. You shouted at him, "I don't want your stupid katana! Give back my pen! That's my weapon!" You reached for your pen, anger coursing through your veins. The pen flew out of Brandon's hands and into yours. Brandon stood there dumbfounded that the pen just moved out of his hand by pure will. No weapon in history had ever done that. He shook his head and took it back from you. Or, at least tried to. He screamed in pain as a blistering heat burned the flesh right off his hand. He cradled his hand and whimpered before running back to his parents, bawling his eyes out. You stared in amazement at your pen. You gripped your pen and ran back to your family. They congratulated you while your parents gave you hugs and kisses.

That day you walked away scotch-free because taking someone else's weapon was illegal, something that Brandon failed to listen to, and you now wielded the strongest weapon in history. No one dared to stand in your way after that.