♥ ♥ ♥ Sometimes I wonder if you think about me as much as I think about you

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A story about Vic the Bic

What is it called again when you take a word and then spend a few minutes writing solely about that word in order to get your create juices flowing? Is it free writing? Or is that only when you write about absolutely nothing? No matter. I think I'll take a word and simply write about for the next few minutes and see where it gets me.

The word I was going to write about was fish but now I have had a moment to think about it and I don't think that is necessarily fair since it gave me the opportunity to come up with a story line attached to the word. Now I need to come up with another one, actually harder than you would think.

Pen. I'll talk about a pen.

Once upon a time there was a blue pen, we'll call him Vic the Bic. Vic the Bic had certainly been around the block a few times. Passed around from desk to desk. He counted this to be his eighth desk in six weeks. He had been silly to think the girl possessing him prior to the giant would actually keep him.

Nestling him amongst his own kind, Vic the Bic shared a green mug with felt tips, fine liners, a few markers and a pencil. He created a home for himself claiming the far left hand side. The other pens respected that he needed his space since his story about traveling in a tightly fitted leather pen holder that didn't allow him to breath for nearly six days *equivalent to 12 human years*. The girl had treated him with respect as well, since she always handled him with a delicate touch and tickled his tip with her loopy handwriting.

Vic the Bic was content and never wanted to leave. He wanted to spend his entire ink settled in her green mug. After spending four days in the mug *equivalent to eight human years* the giant comes to talk to her about signing a document. As he asked for a pen Vic the Bic prayed and asked to be passed over. Vic the Bic would have been spared had the fine liner not been too fine for the oaf's fat hands. As Vic the Bic was passed from the gentle girl to the thick handed giant he inked the paper. This upset the giant, who started shaking Vic the Bic in a violent manner that only separated him from his colour even more so. The girl came to the conclusion that Vic the Bic had come to the end of his ink and left him with the oaf for "disposal" as she so kindly put it. Vic the Bic realized he hadn't come to the end of his ink and thought of his two options: Join the ranks of soiled diapers and spoiled food alike or regain his composure and take off with the foul handed giant.

Though the second option was only mildly better, Vic the Bic set off for his next home, under a mound of paper and atop a notebook, waiting to be discovered and taken to his next home.

2:53 p.m. - 2011-03-31

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