Rolling around the bottom of a box labeled “…or best offer” was a small pencil that could write by itself. People rummaging through other people’s junk passed it by in favor of grander junk like records or playing cards or sewing machines. K bought it for ten cents. He didn’t know that it could write by itself at the time; he bought it because he prefers pencils-which are surprisingly hard to come by-in this age of pens. He found it could write of its own accord when it began dancing atop the pretty wooden table upon which he had placed it after he got home: eat the heart and inner organs of a homeless man. K did as instructed and was later killed by the police in a vicious altercation. There was an article in the newspaper about it, though nothing was mentioned about K’s magic pencil.
2012/06/01
Stalin Appended in Blue
By dsholloway
This entry was posted on Friday, June 1st, 2012 at 10:31 pm and posted in Man, Short Fiction. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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