Is The Pen Mightier?

I just started attending an exclusive art and writing school, about three blocks from my place. So it's no wonder, that I'm extremely attracted to stationery. I have large boxes of fancy pens and pencils in all shapes, shades, styles, and most of them remain undisturbed in their soft foil packaging. In fact, both my roommates are pretty sick of sitting down on our large sofa, only to jump up again with a pen or two sticking out of their butts. I'll admit straightaway, that although they are my roommates, we don't really hang out much. I frankly thought I was above them, simply because with a few flourishes of my pencil, I could breathe life into an otherwise plain drawing or story. Any attempts to bring me out into the vibrant social life of our dorm, was resisted by me at every point. I would sit night after night at my vintage desk, and alternate between drawing and writing. 

It is at this point in my story, that I'd like to point out that I was an absolute idiot back then. I would walk in to our living room, to find my roommates huddled together and whispering. My presence would cause them to immediately stop, and shoot me glances of irritation. I felt like a voyeur during such situations. The obvious stress and hostility of my situation were seen crystal clearly in my work, as they went completely downhill. My art teacher had almost torn up my last failed attempt at sketching. I came home totally at war with the voice inside my head. The one that told me to mend things with my roommates, before I failed the class altogether. The voice died away as I found a gaudily wrapped package on my doorstep. It was addressed to me. I excitedly took it in, and couldn't believe I'd received a birthday present a fortnight early.

It was the simply the most beautifully fountain pen I had ever seen. It came with an equally beautiful notebook. The package came with a little note that said, 'Read every single word carefully.' I was over the moon, and carefully took them in to start writing. The doorbell ringing stopped me from writing that very instant, and I now wonder what would have happened if it hadn't. Other events, pushed this one to the recesses of my mind until midnight, when I had a brainwave for a new story. I quickly ran over to my desk, and picked up the pen triumphantly to put the words down. I opened the first page, only to find a paragraph already written in my own handwriting, explaining how my car just wouldn't start, and lamenting the fact that I had missed the class on drawing still life. I found this extremely odd, as no one knew I was taking that as an extra class this semester, and that it hadn't started yet. Throwing away all my suspicions, I put down my idea and got to bed. The oddness of the whole book made toss and turn all night, and I woke up an hour late. As specified, my car just would not start, and I had to run all the way to class, missing it in the madness. Remembering the book entry, I felt weird. How did I know that my car would break down, and be able to write about it a full night before? Again, I had no time to dwell over this, as I had to redo my assignments from the previous day. When I finally re opened the book to continue with my idea, I found another detailed paragraph about how I had cleaned out my locker at school. Feeling slightly nauseous, l went to bed immediately. I found my usually messy locker spick and span the next day. The paragraphs went on for a week, foretelling events in the most unexpected ways. I was beginning to regret having any new idea, that I would have to write down in that book. It reached a breaking point, where I was afraid to be in the same room as that book. I spent more and more time at the school, only coming home to sleep. In my fear induced daze, I had reluctantly started talking to my roommates about this, and slowly found being in their company easier. 

The whole situation came to a head, when I came home from classes earlier than usual. I was now finding it impossible to concentrate in class. I was going crazy, thinking of what new incident would be written down in that dreadful book. As I pushed open the door softly, I heard hushed voices in the darkened living room. One roommate was telling the other that the prank had gone on long enough, and that she had learnt her lesson. There was no longer any need to scare her, using her stupid notebook. That's when I belatedly realised, that they were talking about me. Apparently, the whole thing had been an elaborate prank, designed by my ridiculous roommates. In hindsight, I should've known that my first roommate could easily have reproduced my handwriting. But doesn't everyone say that hindsight is 20/20? The first day I met her, she had replicated Tendulkar's autograph for me. My other roommate was obviously a bit of prankster, and an efficient planner, as I thought back to the meticulousness, following each notebook entry. She had evidently done her research on me well. Although my first instinct was to barge in, and tell them that I hadn't been terrified at all, I stopped. I could now hear my roommates talking hopefully about a party I'd agreed to attend with them. When I had agreed, it was only because I had had no intention of staying at home, alone with that bewitched book. In spite of all the horror of the last week, I couldn't help but laugh at myself. Their prank had no doubt brought me out of my tough shell, and pulled me down quite a few pegs. This had to have been a last resort to them. I privately resolved to behave better. 

I announced my entrance into the room loudly and clumsily, and pretended not to have heard a word. I woke up late the next day, and noticed the key to my desk drawer still hanging safely on my necklace. Removing the notebook, I found a fresh page and noticed a new paragraph. This time, I took it straightaway to my roommates, and asked them what they thought of it. If their stricken faces were anything to go by, it was clear that they had no idea at all. They vehemently protested knowing anything about it, and deep down, I knew irrevocably that they didn't. After all, I was the one who had written it. I think it's time my roommates met my prankster side.