... in Short Stories

Momentum runs out. The pen slows and stops. It stops for a week. When it starts moving again, it is sullen and dull, it has lost its edge. There’s nothing now in the mind of the pen. If it were a sword it would lash out randomly and without effect. The pen lies on the floor and smokes pot. It has an idea but by the time it gets up the idea is gone. The pen wanders unsteadily through the house, leaking ink that no one will ever clean up.