The Pen and the Paper
The room was dark but warm. I groped in the dark for an outlet until I found something like a door. When my hands rapped on the panel it opened and I crossed the threshold floor. The door closed behind me and the room I found myself in now was cold but there was light. Apart from a desk and a chair I could see nothing. Then I noticed a black pen and a white sheet of paper on the desk as if waiting for me. I went to the desk and sat down. I found some lines already written on the upper part of the sheet but they were too small and cryptic for me to read.

I took the pen with my right hand and drew a line beneath the cryptic lines as if starting a new page. Suddenly two soft small hands appeared from behind. One hand embraced me while the other gripped my right hand firmly to direct it. But before I could write anything, a much bigger hand and a lot of other little hands appeared vaguely from a distance on the other side. The soft hand loosened its grip from me and went straight at the big hand. The two hands tore at my right hand until the sheet of paper was torn. I had to go into a lot of trouble before I could free my own hand. Then I tightened my grip on the torn piece of paper and the pen, opened the door and left.

The moment I was out, the piece of paper fell into the clutches of a hand which came secretly from behind and tore it a way. Then it crumpled it to a ball and threw it at me. I picked it up and straightened it. Now I left in a hurry until I came to a place without any vegetation except for a lonely walnut tree. I was lying under the tree for a while when I remembered the piece of paper which was still in my hand. Then the soft small hand appeared again, gripped my wrist and ordered me to write. I said: Sorry I don’t know how to write but it came at me again and ordered: Write now. I took out the pen and applied it to the paper but the pen leaked. The hand ordered: I said write. Then I started scribbling but the pen didn’t write well for there was not enough ink left.

When the small hand disappeared I took out the piece of paper and the pen. My right hand took the pen and started writing until no space was left. I looked at it and tried reading it but it was not legible. In addition, it was much more confusing than the few lines which had been written before. I crumpled it to a ball and held it between my fingers. Suddenly a strong wind blew it away and I ran as fast as I could to get it back. But the ball of paper was carried high by the wind until it disappeared.


A question, Jamshid: Did 'The Pen and the Paper' come to you as in a dream?

Yesterday I read something which I interpreted as dreams prepare us for the changes to be made in our lives.

There seems to be such conflict in this piece between what the writer wants to convey and what those hands wish him to express. Hard to be true to one's self when someone plays so harshly with one's thoughts, but can't help but feel that the thoughts and ideas and ideals that one wants to express live on strong and full even if they are not allowed to be pubicly realised by pen and paper.