Jar of Ink
“Oh no,” wondered the small jar of Lie de The fountain pen ink. “Where is my friend and only companion, Fountain Pen?”
Aidan didn’t reply. He was embarrassed at having lost yet another expensive fountain pen. It’s not as if he wrote anything more interesting with his parade of fountain pens than “I have a fountain pen” in one of his dozen or so half-filled notebooks anyway.
“I will go a quest!” the jar of ink announced, and promptly did nothing, because she was an immobile jar of ink.
“How did I get like this?” wondered the upended stapler. “How can I fulfill my most basic function?”
“You can staple things together in that position,” said Post-It Flag Dispenser. “Quit your angst.”
“You know what, you’re right,” said Upended Stapler. “It’s just that I’m a little uncomfortable.”
“Is it too much to ask that you identify the real issue?” asked Post-It Flag Dispenser.
Empty To-go Cup of Americano
Not much to go on here, mused the Empty To-go Cup of Americano, mentally inspecting its insides and discovering nothing but a coffee-scented darkness. Maybe someone will put more Americano in me soon?
Ha-ha! said Telepathic Garbage Can, telepathically. You’re a single-serving apparatus, loser! Your next stop is me!
“Am I just a symptom of everything that’s wrong with the culture of mass production?” cried Empty Cup. “Is my utility restricted to this one brief use, my aura as an object distributed among my million-plus identical peers? Or am I a brief shining star arcing across the vault of purpose before deliquescing into landfill?”
“Don’t involve us in your conversations with Telepathic Garbage Can,” said Lenovo Corded Mouse.