Jack walked through the woods and onto a street at a leisurely pace. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he didn’t have a care in the world.
His new clothes were courtesy of experimenting with the pen, and were now not only stain- and tear-free, but upgraded to nicer ones he wanted but couldn’t afford.
He learned quickly that when using the pen, it was best to be careful where you write. But he also learned that he could write something like “no ink stains” and it would get rid of any unfortunately placed writing, say in the middle of a shirt, while keeping the desired effects.
He had all but forgotten the nightmarish dream he had, but the knowledge about the pen and how to use it remained. He instinctively knew things about it that must have been programmed into him through all the imagery.
It was true, the pen was alive. He could sense it.
And it could be dangerous, perhaps even influence him if he wasn’t careful. There were a lot of other things he knew, sensed or suspected, but there was time for all that later. He wouldn’t use it to make any grandiose changes, only little things to improve his situation; he didn’t think anyone would begrudge him that. He figured as long as he didn’t get greedy, it would be okay.
Right now, he just wanted to celebrate.
What had started out as the last day of his life had turned into the first day of his new improved life. He was going to enjoy it, and have some fun for a change.
Before he knew it, Jack was walking up the steps of his Uncle’s house. He unlocked the door and let himself in. “Mom? Uncle R?”
No one seemed to be home, so he made a bee-line to the bathroom and took a look in the mirror at himself.
He sighed.
Yeah, he was ugly. It didn’t matter how he wore his hair, or what he did to his face. It didn’t matter how much he worked out – he actually wasn’t in bad shape, despite his hips being slightly too wide, and his shoulders slightly too narrow. It didn’t matter that he was a decent person.
Ugly was ugly.
People could be nice, and even say all kinds of nice things, but it didn’t change the fact.
His hand was shaking when he took the pen out, removing the cap. He took a deep breath. “Okay, here goes.”
Jack had to calm himself down, breathing calmly in and out before he stopped shaking enough to be able to write. Then, after a couple of minutes – his nerves having settled some – he wrote a paragraph on his arm, describing how he wanted to look with some detail, using words like ‘handsome’ and ‘athletic’ in the description.
When he was done, he put the cap on the pen. He looked up, and he saw his reflection.
It was still undoubtedly him.
He hadn’t gone for any dramatic changes. But he looked different somehow too… actually handsome. His eyes were just the right distance apart, set pleasingly into his face. They were still blue, but they seemed a little more vibrant, and the way they sparkled now just added a little something. His lips were still his lips, just slightly fuller and more pleasing. His face was still his face, but just… better looking. His body was still his body, but there was no denying he could easily model in magazines.
Jack looked at himself in the mirror, and smiled.
He actually smiled. And it was a beautiful smile.
Unexpected tears ran down his face.
For the first time in his life, he liked what he saw. And in this private moment, with no one to ridicule him or insult him, he wept. Quietly at first. Then sobs that wracked his body. All the years of pain and hurt started flowing out.
After a time, when the sobs dwindled, and the tears slowly stopped, he looked at himself. Even with red eyes from crying, he was still beautiful. Still handsome.
“Oh my God,” he wiped the tears from his face – even his hands looked better. “I can’t believe it.”
Sometimes life took on a surreal quality and a person would have to pinch themselves to make sure they weren’t dreaming and that they were in fact awake.
Maybe this actually was one of those moments, maybe this was that kind of life after all.