Once, in my youth, I found a magical pen. It was a pen that would write the true story, past, present, and future, about anything- anything- you just had to dip it in the right ink. And there was no telling what the right ink was for any given object. It might be a romance in puddle of rainwater, or maybe a mystery in a few drops of whiskey. You never knew what kind of story you'd find, when you dipped your pen.
Well, that's not strictly true. It was pretty easy to find the right ink to write a biography: each and every one of us carries our own in our veins. But that's what led to me giving up the wonderful, terrible pen. Long before that happened, back when I thought it merely a sort of mystical toy, I tried dipping my pen in a rainbow, and learned the true story of the creature that men called Iris...
(Living Ink)
Very cool story to go along with Nate's picture. I don't think I'd want one of those pens myself.
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