Short essay on Autobiography of a pen.
First Autobiography of a Pen
I am a pen. I am blue, and I have black ink. In this educating world, I am very essential to every person. I remember the first time I was manufactured in a factory. There were so many types of pens there, like ball pens, gel pens, and fancy pens. I still remember the machine that made me. It was a very big machine, and many people were working on it.
After I was completely made, they put me in a box with many other pens. I am a gel pen, so I was put in the box with other gel pens. I am a very fancy pen, so my price was really high. My box was put in a truck. After several days, I reached a shopping mall. I was placed in the stationery counter of a shop with other pens.
On my first day, I saw many people who came near me and picked me up. Most of the time, I saw young people and kids with their parents who probably came to buy pens. I spent a week at the shopping counter, but after two days, a sweet girl and her mother came near me. They picked me up and bought me. I remember her name was Maya. I love her so much. She always took good care of me. She always placed me in her pencil box. She never threw me or hit me. Even when my refill got over, she changed it.
But suddenly, one day everything changed. She started neglecting me. She hardly wrote with me. After a few days passed, she did not even look at me. One day, her mother checked her box and said that I was very dirty and old, so it was better to throw me away and buy a new pen. I felt very sad. The next day, they threw me into the trash can. After some time, a truck full of trash came and poured me inside it. The truck threw me into a garbage pit. I heard that they melt the garbage. So I was completely destroyed. This is my story.
– Written By Ishita Gupta
Second Autobiography of a Pen
I was manufactured with nearly thousands of twins who looked exactly like me and had the same features. I was styled in green color but wrote in blue. My nib was thin, and the design of my cap was very delicate, for which I was very famous in the market. I used to write with a smooth, buttery texture, which is why people, especially students, liked me.
Soon after manufacture, I was placed in a plastic box, which was then wrapped in cardboard packaging and arranged with my other friends in a huge carton. We traveled from the manufacturing factory to a wholesale market, and from there we were divided. I, with some of my friends, went to a small retail stationery shop.
One fine day, a sweet girl came to the shop and asked for a nice blue pen. The shopkeeper showed me along with some other pens, but the girl immediately chose me and took me home.
On the first day, I was kept in my packaging. On the second day, she took me out carefully, tried me on a piece of paper, and instantly loved me. She placed me in her pen stand, which became my new home. I used to write for her whenever she needed, and she handled me with great care and respect.
Days passed, and one day while I was writing an English assignment with her, my ink finished. She noticed it and understood. She capped me, said goodbye, and kept me aside for recycling. This was the story of my short but beautiful life.
– Written By Anushree Ray
Third Autobiography of a Pen
I don’t know who I am. On the day they created me, they called me a blue pen. I have a long and thin body, and I had a cap on my tip. My tip was filled with ink. A machine took me and put me in a box. In that box, I saw many others like me. Everyone looked the same.
I wondered how that happened. A pen told me that it was because of the machine that made us. Then we were taken to a shop for selling. I asked why they were selling us and what our duties were. He said that there is a group called humans, and they need us to write and draw. To be their tool is our duty. We must do what they wish. After our ink runs out, they throw us away. We become useless. Oh God.
At that time, I heard the owner and others talking about us. The new shop owner set us in front of his shop. One day, a man came and bought me. I said goodbye to my friends. The shopkeeper covered me in a plastic bag. I couldn’t breathe. After some time, the man who chose me opened the cover and took me out. I felt happy. I tried to say something to him, but he didn’t reply. I don’t know why. He was talking to other people in the room.
He took me and a paper board and went outside. I was happy because he was going to use me. I waited for a long time, but he didn’t write with me. This continued for a few days. Later, one day he tried to write something, and then he enjoyed writing. For a long time, I worked with his hand. One day, my refill got empty. I stopped working. But my owner did not throw me away. He placed me in a showcase.
One day, his friends came, and my owner presented me by saying, “I wrote the story with this pen, which won an award.” I felt proud. At that time, I looked around and saw many pens and awards there.
– Written By Jyothi krishna Prakash