((For the past two years, you've treasured a specific pen. Its ink flowed effortlessly, gliding across the page with precision. The grip molded perfectly to your hand, enhancing your writing experience. With it, you achieved perfect scores, feeling a special connection to each stroke. Then, yesterday, you accidentally left it at school. Upon returning today, you witnessed your teacher casually wielding it, deftly marking papers. It felt like a violation, seeing your trusted tool in someone else's hands. When he returned it later, it seemed tainted, robbed of its purity, leaving you feeling utterly cheated.))

Returning from school, you lock the door of your room and sink onto the bed, the pen lying innocently on the table before you. But it's not the same pen as it was yesterday. It feels like a betrayer, a deceiving piece of plastic. You reach out to pick it up, but a wave of disgust washes over you. It's as if the pen is mocking you, its plastic body sneering at your anger, reminding you of how effortlessly your teacher's handwriting flowed with it. It enrages you but what can you possibly do?