Beth sat at her desk with the worst case of writer's block she had ever experienced. Sure, people had told her writer's block wasn't really a thing, that what she should really do is start on a different idea if the first one wasn't inspiring her. But had those people ever stared at her mound of blank notebooks and felt incapable of writing? She couldn't even think of a first word to write. She thought of going for the fairy tale classic of "once," but that felt too cliche. She thought of just going with "the" as it had so many possibilities that could come after it, but that felt too overwhelming. She thought of just writing her own name, but that felt too self-centered.
Beth sighed heavily and let out a long breath, blowing her auburn bangs up in the air. She began to tap her foot in impatience. Suddenly, there was a large BANG from under her desk. Confused, she stooped down and saw that she had somehow managed to kick over a metal box. She had been storing some things from her grandparents' house under her desk ever since they'd passed. Beth hadn't wanted to deal with it all yet, so she had just shoved a lot of their stuff away in far off corners, hoping to avoid it until the loss of both of her grandparents to heart attacks in one night had faded somewhat.
It seemed though, that this box wanted to be opened now. Wondering if it would help with her writer's block, Beth decided to pick up the box and open it. Despite being made of metal, it was a fairly light box. There was a code needed to open it. Beth thought for a moment and then tried her birthday, it fell right between her grandparents' birthdays and they had always loved celebrating together for three days straight.
CLICK. The box opened. Inside was a feather pen and a little bottle of red ink. It took Beth a moment to realize what this must have been. Her grandparents had been high school sweethearts, but had gone to different colleges. They decided to remain together and wrote each other countless letters. One year, her grandfather had given her grandmother a feather pen for her birthday. Two days later, her grandmother gave him the same pen. It was then, Beth's grandfather had said, that he knew he was going to marry her. Over the years, one of the pens (there was a great debate between the two as to whose it was) had gotten lost. But this must be the other pen. Beth knew that her grandparents wrote in red ink because they thought it was romantic. She smiled briefly at how cheesily in love her grandparents had been before tearing up at losing them.
Her family hadn't been enough help when they passed either. Her brother and father fought constantly over who should get what (apparently there were multiple wills one that benefited her father and one that benefited her and her brother), but Beth didn't care much about that, especially as her brother and father had said she could have the few trinkets she did care about. Her father had also not wanted Beth to see the bodies, telling her it wouldn't do her any good, but all Beth had wanted to do was say goodbye. Her dad also didn't want to do a funeral, he said it was a waste of money, but Beth had scraped together some and managed to hold a small memorial service for them. Her father hadn't come.
Thinking perhaps this pen would somehow magically cure her writer's block, Beth decided to try and use it. She set up the ink on her desk and dipped the feather pen in it. This time, it wasn't her own brain that was preventing her from writing. The pen would not move how she wanted it to. Beth had been planning to write some memories down of her grandparents and see if it would spark a story, but the pen was fighting her.
Beth gripped the pen with both hands and tried to write A (the first letter of her grandmother's name Adelaide), but it shook and resisted her. Finally, exasperated, Beth let go of the feather pen. To her shock, it began to write on its own.
The haunted feather pen scrawled out in looping blood-red letters:
It wasn't heart attacks.
(Prompt by Bri Aaron)
Beth sighed heavily and let out a long breath, blowing her auburn bangs up in the air. She began to tap her foot in impatience. Suddenly, there was a large BANG from under her desk. Confused, she stooped down and saw that she had somehow managed to kick over a metal box. She had been storing some things from her grandparents' house under her desk ever since they'd passed. Beth hadn't wanted to deal with it all yet, so she had just shoved a lot of their stuff away in far off corners, hoping to avoid it until the loss of both of her grandparents to heart attacks in one night had faded somewhat.
It seemed though, that this box wanted to be opened now. Wondering if it would help with her writer's block, Beth decided to pick up the box and open it. Despite being made of metal, it was a fairly light box. There was a code needed to open it. Beth thought for a moment and then tried her birthday, it fell right between her grandparents' birthdays and they had always loved celebrating together for three days straight.
CLICK. The box opened. Inside was a feather pen and a little bottle of red ink. It took Beth a moment to realize what this must have been. Her grandparents had been high school sweethearts, but had gone to different colleges. They decided to remain together and wrote each other countless letters. One year, her grandfather had given her grandmother a feather pen for her birthday. Two days later, her grandmother gave him the same pen. It was then, Beth's grandfather had said, that he knew he was going to marry her. Over the years, one of the pens (there was a great debate between the two as to whose it was) had gotten lost. But this must be the other pen. Beth knew that her grandparents wrote in red ink because they thought it was romantic. She smiled briefly at how cheesily in love her grandparents had been before tearing up at losing them.
Her family hadn't been enough help when they passed either. Her brother and father fought constantly over who should get what (apparently there were multiple wills one that benefited her father and one that benefited her and her brother), but Beth didn't care much about that, especially as her brother and father had said she could have the few trinkets she did care about. Her father had also not wanted Beth to see the bodies, telling her it wouldn't do her any good, but all Beth had wanted to do was say goodbye. Her dad also didn't want to do a funeral, he said it was a waste of money, but Beth had scraped together some and managed to hold a small memorial service for them. Her father hadn't come.
Thinking perhaps this pen would somehow magically cure her writer's block, Beth decided to try and use it. She set up the ink on her desk and dipped the feather pen in it. This time, it wasn't her own brain that was preventing her from writing. The pen would not move how she wanted it to. Beth had been planning to write some memories down of her grandparents and see if it would spark a story, but the pen was fighting her.
Beth gripped the pen with both hands and tried to write A (the first letter of her grandmother's name Adelaide), but it shook and resisted her. Finally, exasperated, Beth let go of the feather pen. To her shock, it began to write on its own.
The haunted feather pen scrawled out in looping blood-red letters:
It wasn't heart attacks.
(Prompt by Bri Aaron)
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