Rating: G
Disclaimers: Characters are not my property, and the situation isn't that far fetched either.
Please read this and review if you kindly would. Thanks.
A Pen Is Not Just A Writing Implement
Keliza
I am sitting here, staring at a pen. And that would, and in a sane universe should, be weird. Yet it makes perfect sense. I note that nobody here is questioning my behaviour, their tact seemingly extending beyond concerns for me, with their minds preoccupied. I have some document to prepare which is doubtless crucial to the running of the country, but honestly, who cares? It really doesn't matter any more. My whole world is coming down around me, accompanied by the knowledge that soon the whole world will soon fall anyway. The eerie atmosphere in the building, the torrent of flustered ambassadors having now ceased, only serves to preserve my detached sense of being right now. My faith in God has come and gone but my faith in Toby never wavered. I tell myself its only a pen, that I have a hundred others in my desk drawer, providing Josh hasn't stolen them. But a red rose isn't just a plant, a crucifix not just a lump of metal, my friends are not mere collections of cells. Today is the day my pen stopped working. And today is the day that I realised that my child-like faith could no longer be justified. The pen represented his power and influence on the things around him and his unfaltering confidence. It was years ago, that he gave me this pen and made me a promise. It was a throwaway line but I the moment it meant something. It was the night of the election first time round. We were working late and my pen ran out, as pens do - our ever-consuming society designs them that way. The inevitability of this resounds in the inevitability of this day. The day we all saw coming but never wanted to truly arrive. He gave me his. "How do I know this one won't break too? I can't cope with these lousy pens. Not a good omen, Toby." "Because, CJ, this is my pen, a decent pen I trust, and the day it breaks we will see Armageddon." The earnest look in his eyes will never leave me, the absolute confidence in Bartlet and the future. And maybe I wouldn't have been so worried; maybe I could have dismissed it as a simple meaningless broken pen if I hadn't known that at that moment President Bartlet's hand was hovering over the red button.
Disclaimers: Characters are not my property, and the situation isn't that far fetched either.
Please read this and review if you kindly would. Thanks.
A Pen Is Not Just A Writing Implement
Keliza
I am sitting here, staring at a pen. And that would, and in a sane universe should, be weird. Yet it makes perfect sense. I note that nobody here is questioning my behaviour, their tact seemingly extending beyond concerns for me, with their minds preoccupied. I have some document to prepare which is doubtless crucial to the running of the country, but honestly, who cares? It really doesn't matter any more. My whole world is coming down around me, accompanied by the knowledge that soon the whole world will soon fall anyway. The eerie atmosphere in the building, the torrent of flustered ambassadors having now ceased, only serves to preserve my detached sense of being right now. My faith in God has come and gone but my faith in Toby never wavered. I tell myself its only a pen, that I have a hundred others in my desk drawer, providing Josh hasn't stolen them. But a red rose isn't just a plant, a crucifix not just a lump of metal, my friends are not mere collections of cells. Today is the day my pen stopped working. And today is the day that I realised that my child-like faith could no longer be justified. The pen represented his power and influence on the things around him and his unfaltering confidence. It was years ago, that he gave me this pen and made me a promise. It was a throwaway line but I the moment it meant something. It was the night of the election first time round. We were working late and my pen ran out, as pens do - our ever-consuming society designs them that way. The inevitability of this resounds in the inevitability of this day. The day we all saw coming but never wanted to truly arrive. He gave me his. "How do I know this one won't break too? I can't cope with these lousy pens. Not a good omen, Toby." "Because, CJ, this is my pen, a decent pen I trust, and the day it breaks we will see Armageddon." The earnest look in his eyes will never leave me, the absolute confidence in Bartlet and the future. And maybe I wouldn't have been so worried; maybe I could have dismissed it as a simple meaningless broken pen if I hadn't known that at that moment President Bartlet's hand was hovering over the red button.