Either at the bottom of my backpack, or the bottom of my locker, those tricky black and blue pens just want to make my life miserable.

I cannot count how many pens I have had disappear under my watch. Even in the middle of a timed writing, I could be writing away, when my pen will simply slip from my hand and clink on the floor.

Then my pen has the nerve to roll across the floor, till it knocks into somebody’s foot. Fortunately, distracted students remain oblivious.

I then have to get up and politely ask that certain somebody to pick it up, then I would have to explain to my teacher the issue. The whole situation causing quite the scene.

In other words, pens simply do not like me.

I know it’s not just me, because I see hundreds of lost pens all over WS. I think to myself how lonely they must be, feeling forgotten and unloved.

Then there are the cruel pens that die at random. Their excuse is that they ran out of ink. Yeah right!

I know they are lying. All I do is put the cap on and shake it a bit and it works again. Then, I write another sentence and it dies again, repeating the process.

It makes me want to scream.

Somewhere down there, there must be a pen limbo, where all the lost and dead pens go, while I sit up here, pen less.

I would, if I could, tie a string to my pen and tie the other end to my wrist. Then I wouldn’t lose my pen and it could be a pen bracelet, a useful and fashionable accessory.

But I have a feeling my pen would slip from my grasp still, and just dangle there. Yet still, I could jump up and down doing cartwheels and my pen would hang there, ready, at my fingertips.