THE SPOILERS YET TO BE SPOILERS
THE PEN
GAAFATAA — THE QUESTIONER
A reader raised his hand.
"The Pen."
I looked at him.
"What about it?"
"We've heard about it before."
"Have you?"
He frowned.
"Yes."
"Then what is it?"
"A pen."
...
I waited.
He looked annoyed.
"What?"
"Is that your answer?"
"What else would it be?"
...
Another writer raised her hand.
"That's probably the trap."
"What trap?"
"We see something familiar...
so we assume we understand it."
I looked toward her.
"Do you understand a thing because you recognize its shape?"
"No."
"Then what do you recognize?"
"The object."
"And what don't you recognize?"
She thought.
"Its meaning."
...
Another reader raised his hand.
"Fine.
Who owns the Pen?"
I asked:
"Why must someone own it?"
"Someone has to."
"Why?"
"Because someone writes with it."
"Does someone?"
...
Silence.
Another hand.
"Who holds it?"
I asked:
"Have you seen a hand?"
...
"No."
"Then why are you searching for one?"
"Because pens don't write themselves."
I looked at him.
"Don't they?"
...
The room became quieter.
Another writer raised his hand.
"Careful."
"Why?"
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
"Because now people will think the Pen is alive."
I asked:
"Did I say that?"
"No."
"Did I imply it?"
He hesitated.
"You asked a question."
"Exactly."
...
Another reader spoke.
"Can the Pen write the story?"
I asked:
"What does it mean to write a story?"
"To decide what happens."
"Is writing the same as deciding?"
...
He stopped.
Another hand rose.
"Can the Pen change what already happened?"
I asked:
"Can written words be erased?"
"Yes."
"Does erasing the words erase what the reader remembers?"
...
"No."
"Then which version happened?"
...
Nobody answered.
Another writer raised her hand.
"Wait."
I turned.
"If something was written...
read...
and later removed..."
She stopped.
"Was it ever part of the story?"
I asked:
"Did you experience it?"
"Yes."
"Then what do you think?"
...
She lowered her hand.
Another reader raised his.
"Can Safsan hear the Pen?"
...
The room changed.
Only slightly.
I looked at him.
"Why Safsan?"
He hesitated.
"I don't know."
"Then why did his name come to you?"
...
No answer.
Another reader immediately raised her hand.
"Can SEENEE hear it?"
I asked:
"Should the narrator hear what creates narration?"
...
She froze.
Another writer:
"Creates?"
I looked toward him.
"What?"
"You said 'creates narration.'"
"Did I?"
"Yes."
"Or did you decide that's what my question meant?"
...
He stared at me.
Good.
Another hand.
"Can Nafsan see the Pen?"
I asked:
"From where?"
...
Another.
"Reality Door?"
I asked:
"What does Reality Door have to do with the Pen?"
The reader stopped.
"I thought—"
"Thought what?"
...
Nothing.
Another writer raised his hand.
"So we're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Connecting things ourselves."
"Is that wrong?"
"Not necessarily."
"Is it evidence?"
"No."
"Should you remember the connection?"
He smiled.
"Maybe."
...
Then...
a sound.
Scratch.
...
Everyone stopped.
Scratch.
...
A reader slowly looked upward.
"What was that?"
I asked:
"What did it sound like?"
He swallowed.
"A pen."
"Have you ever heard this Pen before?"
"No."
"Then how do you know?"
...
Scratch.
...
Another writer stood.
"Where is it coming from?"
I asked:
"Does sound require a direction?"
"Yes."
"Always?"
...
Scratch.
...
A thin black line appeared across the floor.
Nobody moved.
It continued.
Slowly.
As though something invisible...
were writing.
A reader whispered:
"What is it writing?"
I asked:
"Must every line be a word?"
...
The line curved.
Stopped.
Nothing happened.
...
Another reader raised her hand.
"Was that the Pen?"
I asked:
"Did you see one?"
"No."
"Then what did you see?"
"A line."
"And what did you hear?"
"Writing."
"Are those the same thing?"
...
She didn't answer.
Another writer approached the line.
"What happens if I cross it?"
I asked:
"What makes you think it's a boundary?"
...
He stepped back.
Interesting.
Another hand rose.
"What happens if the Pen writes a question?"
I looked toward him.
"What happens if it writes an answer?"
...
Another:
"What happens if it writes a person?"
...
Another:
"What happens if it writes a death?"
...
Another:
"What happens if it refuses to write?"
...
Another:
"What happens if someone takes it?"
...
Another:
"What happens if someone breaks it?"
...
Another:
"What happens if someone reaches the place where it is?"
...
Another:
"What happens if someone discovers who's holding it?"
...
Another:
"What happens if nobody is holding it?"
...
The questions stopped.
Then one reader asked:
"What happens if the person searching for the Pen...
is already being written by it?"
...
Nobody moved.
I looked toward him.
"What happens if the Pen is also being written?"
...
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Someone whispered:
"By what?"
I smiled.
"Isn't that a better question?"
...
Scratch.
...
A single symbol appeared.
?
...
Then disappeared.
Another reader stood.
"Was THAT written for us?"
I asked:
"Who is 'us'?"
...
He slowly sat down.
Another writer raised her hand.
"Does THE AUTHOR'S CORE contain the Pen?"
I asked:
"Who connected them?"
"We did."
"Then why are you asking me?"
...
Another hand.
"Does the Pen lead to THE AUTHOR'S CORE?"
"Does it?"
...
Another.
"Does THE AUTHOR'S CORE control the Pen?"
"Must one control the other?"
...
Another.
"Does the Pen have anything to do with that throne?"
...
I looked toward him.
"What throne?"
Nobody laughed.
...
For less than a second...
far beyond the room...
steps.
An empty seat.
?
Gone.
...
A reader whispered:
"Why does it keep appearing?"
I asked:
"Does it?"
"We've seen it more than once."
"Then perhaps you should ask something else."
"What?"
I looked at him.
"Why do you remember it?"
...
Scratch.
...
This time...
the sound came from behind me.
I did not turn.
A reader shouted:
"GAAFATAA."
"What?"
"Behind you."
"What is behind me?"
"The Pen."
...
Everyone stared.
I asked:
"What does it look like?"
Nobody answered.
I asked again:
"What does it look like?"
...
A reader whispered:
"I..."
...
"I can't describe it."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
...
I turned.
Nothing was there.
...
Another reader stood.
"We saw it."
"Did you?"
"Yes."
"Then describe it."
...
Nobody could.
Interesting.
Another writer raised his hand.
"Was that THE Pen?"
I asked:
"How many pens are there?"
...
He froze.
Nobody had asked that before.
...
Another hand rose.
"Is there more than one?"
I asked:
"Did I say there was?"
"No."
"Did I say there wasn't?"
"No."
...
Another reader whispered:
"What if we've already seen the Pen before?"
I looked toward her.
"Where?"
"I don't know."
"What if you've already heard it?"
...
"What if we've already seen something it wrote?"
...
"What if we're reading something it wrote right now?"
...
The room became still.
Then another voice asked:
"What if this chapter itself is one of the spoilers?"
...
I looked toward the voice.
"What would it spoil?"
Nobody knew.
Exactly.
...
THE ANSWER APPEARS.
THE CONTEXT IS MISSING.
THE QUESTION IS BORN.
THE MEANING CHANGES.
AND THEN...
?????
You do not need to understand the Pen.
Not today.
You do not need to know who holds it.
Whether anyone holds it.
Where it exists.
What it writes.
What it cannot write.
Whether Safsan can hear it.
Whether SEENEE understands it.
Whether Nafsan can reach it.
Whether it has anything to do with Reality Door.
Whether it has anything to do with THE AUTHOR'S CORE.
Whether it has anything to do with an empty throne.
Or whether every connection you just made...
was yours.
Remember it.
Forget it.
Either is allowed.
The story should still work.
But someday...
if you hear...
scratch...
scratch...
scratch...
and someone inside the story suddenly stops...
perhaps you will remember this chapter.
And perhaps your first thought will be:
"The Pen."
If that happens...
do not ask:
"What is the Pen?"
Not yet.
Ask something smaller.
Something far more dangerous.
"Who heard it first?"
...
?????
My name is GAAFATAA.
THE QUESTIONER.
And the Pen is...
...
Did you really think I would finish that sentence?
Perhaps someone else already has.
Scratch.
— GAAFATAA
THE QUESTIONER