Mansi picked up a pen and used it like a sword. Not defying governments or changing the world order by writing the next masterpiece. She literally picked the pen and stabbed him with it. Her intention was clear. His leg should be the canvas for her.
“Are you done?” He drawled and continued watching the movie. Then pen had failed her. She looked at the pen incredulously. She turned to her own hand and saw that the pen was working perfectly. Invigorated, she attacked him again and the pen ditched her again.
“What the hell?” She said and looked at the pen tip.
“It’s my pen. It will show some reverence to me.” He said laughing.
Mansi looked at him with pure fury and then without any control she also started laughing. She took the pen and started writing on a pad. When she was convinced that the pen would work no matter what, she turned to his leg – which had not changed it’s position.
The first mark went blank. However, Mansi was patient this time. Instead of a sword, the pen turned into a needle. Slowly but with gaining confidence, she spilled the ink little by little on his leg. By the time he turned to look, it had turned into an artwork – grotesque – but an art nonetheless.
“What the hell?” He said looking at the random crisscross of lines on his leg.
“I win.” Mansi said triumphantly.
“You know it’s just a pen stain and will wash out in the first bath.” He said with a quizzical look on his face.
Mansi looked at him and stuck her tongue out, “I win,” and threw the pen at him.