Reply To: Den monthly competition September 2018


Dancing With Words

Humble, that’s how my kind are deemed: the humble pen.
I don’t know why, since, led by the right hand, we’re capable of causing wars. Stopping them. Uniting distant hearts or breaking them apart. Telling tales that stir a million souls across a thousand years without pictures, smell or sound.
I aspire to that. Which is why, fumbling my way around the net, I sought a gathering of kindred pens.
I found them in among a host of paper clouds.
So many were there to welcome me, looking patiently on as I danced before them, tripping nervously while they uttered words of encouragement. I admired their confident loops and strokes. Their ability to move. Some pointed me towards a dance class; the ess-eee course, they called it, run by not one, but two wonderful instructors who taught us how to move in cheek-to-cheek or swing out, using the whole room. Under their guidance, a class of us stepped; quickly, slowly, skipping and sliding. The more we learned, the more we moved, growing wings when we found we could fly; growing any darned thing our imaginations conjured, be it gowns of lace, armour or dragon scales.
Inside the class or out of it, this humble pen often teetered on her nib, but so many were around to take me by the clip, I’d soon be dancing again around the cloud …
The clouds popped and there was darkness. And I tumbled through the heavenly net, falling, falling, looking for a haven.
A dot of new light appeared in the distance and I saw others like me moving towards it. I followed, until the dot became a parchmented den.
A new home.
The den shone with newness, its doors open wide. Pens drifted inside and I joined them. It was still being built; doorways erected, floors being layed. Ohh but look, I knew that pen – and that one, and that; so glad we made it together again. What an adventure! Falling and tumbling and landing here.
They’re all ready to take up the dance and, you know, so am I.
I found this door; nailed to it, a set of instructions: a new rhumba, or waltz, please. In fact, any rhythm you like, but make it in four-hundred steps.
New beginnings, how exciting.
I’d best get dancing …

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