A day in the life of a pen

So here's my creative writing prompt number two. What does a pen go through each day? If the pen could talk to a user, what would it say?

 

This was my biggest issue in figuring out how to approach this writing exercise. Would a pen actually want to get used? On one hand, it has a function, purpose, a job. But the more it gets used, the closer it is to meeting its demise. But how could it even know it's getting closer to the end?

Here's my attempt to verbalize the voiceless pen.

 

You know I've been wanting to say a few things for a while now...

 

I know that there's a billion of us in the world. So I get that you toss me around like I'm dispensable. Someone else will come along soon enough and you won't even remember me. I can handle that, because I know I'm important to you while you have me.

 

It hurts when I'm clicked so hard. I don't mind your clicking, just don't push it in so hard, ok?

 

When you stand me up, and you put me back in the cup, it's a little awkward. I recognize most of them, some of them look exactly like me. And then there's always a few foreigners that we haven't seen before. But we all get to socialize. The scary thing is once one of us gets pulled out we don't know if he's ever going to come back!

 

What is your fascination of putting me in your mouth? Exactly what do I taste like?

And furthermore, how do you decide which one of us you're going to pull out?

 

Are you looking for the one with the full cap, the old reliable Bic, or do you need the clicker?

 

My blue brother feels totally ignored. He knows he's your absolute last option.  Chances are you'd rather actually try to remember crap rather than write with him.

 

By the way, when one of us explodes, that's us puking.