Short Story

The Shinning Pen
No master hates me while I'm at a piece of paper. They feel I am their friend yet my being presents itself as their servant. Looking into my shape reverberates that snobby is a hobby which no one can deny; nonetheless my showy outward merely an identity which I couldn’t care less. My countenance is lustrous but you mustn’t countenance it because it is not me.
Paymand