Thelma’s Pen
“Darn it this thing!” Synthia said, frustrated over a pen that wouldn’t help her write her check out for the bank teller. The teller, standing behind three inches of glass tossed an old black and gold pen underneath the metal shelf. “Here.” she said. “Borrow it for a day or two. You’re coming back here right?”
“Yes.” said Synthia. “To sign over the loan.”
“Alrighty then, you’ll give it back to me then. Oh and my name is Thelma.”
“Ok Thelma, until then.”
The thought of tracking such a ridiculous item bewildered Synthia. The thought, however, was horridly abandoned when she looked over her to do list again. Coming out of the bank her expression on her face went from that of accomplishment to a sigh of being overworked. As she got in the car Synthia took out the pen and scratched out the word “Bank checks” from the list. She noticed the pen had an amazing grip and texture to it. Almost as if it were a waterbed mattress for her fingers. After looking over the pen, Synthia tucked it back into her pocket and headed to the grocery store. As soon as she stopped the car in the parking lot the pen started to vibrate in her pocket with this random pattern. Synthia immediately grabbed the pen out of her pocket. “What is with this thing?” she said to herself. “How do I get it to go off? Damn it stupid vibration go off!” The pen stopped vibrating. Synthia smiled put the pen back in her pocket and continued to go shopping. She realized once she got in the store that she had forgotten to grab her purse, but her pen and her check book were still in her pocket. “That’s ok I can still shop for things.” she thought. Going down the isles she forgot about everything she had to buy, but somehow was getting a voice unlike any voice she had ever heard before. It had a high pitch almost as though a rickety door had been squeaking the words to her. Synthia pulled the pen out of her pocket and saw that the pen had been unscrewing itself and screwing itself to create the sound that she was hearing. After every helping tip the pen gave towards finding the groceries she needed, Synthia would give the pen a small whisper, “Thank you.” to the pen.
When Finally getting back to the car Synthia had realized she was locked out, and stranded from getting home. The pen began to vibrate again. This time Synthia pulled the pen out and noticed that instead of an old familiar ball point sticking out the end, there was a car key, in fact the exact key to her car. Synthia let out a great sigh of relief when she placed the key into the keyhole on the side door. Her hands were still shaking from the shock of relief that had just occurred. She kissed the pen she was in such good mood, and she placed it in her pocket again, and drove home.
The next day Synthia had to go back to the bank for the loan papers. After forgetting the documents she needed at home she simply wasn’t aware of the Fattah she had forgotten them because the pen had drafted new identical copies for her. Her husband called her and in a hesitant voice said, “Honey, you left the papers here! You have to drive back you need the papers!” Synthia replied, “Oh don’t be silly Duglass. I have the papers in my hand as we speak.” Synthia picked up the pen in her hand while she was hanging up the phone. She kissed it again and again. While in the meeting with the teller the pen had managed to draft some new “loop holes” in the loan contracts that allowed Synthia to skip out on some of the billing statements. The teller was quite shocked that one of their clients had managed to develop such above average knowledge of their policies on loans. He knew that only several employees of the company had managed to be so well informed of the policy the bank had made out. The teller, not wanting to lose any business by informing the client of such a fact, took the effort to pass it all off as if it were nothing. The documents were reluctantly signed, mostly out of sheer fear that a client might have read all of the policy statements. The loan payments boiled down to eighty-five dollars for two years. The money was much more substantial than the payoff price. Synthia did not know much about the teller’s nervousness, but she did know she had gotten a great deal on the loan because it was much different than what she had expected.
As Synthia was leaving the bank, with a big smirk on her face, she bumped into Thelma. Immediately her smirk went away. Synthia had hoped Thelma had forgotten about the pen she had lent to her. A great sense of fear came from Synthia, she knew Thelma had come from the counter, all the way over the other side of the building to confront her about one thing, the pen. “Hey Thelma how are you?” Synthia asked.
“Oh I’m just fine, are you and my pen having a good time?” Synthia’s heart sank. “Crap! She remembered.” Synthia thought. “Oh we are just fine. Listen I really like the pen how much would you like for it?” Synthia gestured.
“It’s not for sale. I need it.” Thelma said in a relaxing tone. It was then Synthia knew that Thelma was aware of the pen’s abilities.
“Can’t I just borrow it for a few more days?!” Synthia now in a more pleading voice.
“I could, but I won’t because the pen needs me.” Synthia grabbed the pen in her pocket and squeezed it really hard. It looked as though Thelma was trying to mention something with her lips, when… “Ow! Ew Ow!” Synthia screamed.
“You were hurting it and it shocked you!” Thelma said in a perky voice, as though she had taught Synthia a lesson. The pen then jumped out of Synthia’s pocket and into Thelma’s hand. “NO!” Synthia yelled. “I need that pen, it’s a great wonderful pen. I was right to it we were good!” Synthia had collapsed on the floor, laying paralyzed as her life drifted away from her she whispered, “Save me…”