The Pen Michael Deerfield Book
by Michael Deerfield

The Pen.

This is the story of a Saturday morning in Birmingham City Centre, which was just a little bit more unusual than my usual Saturday morning in Birmingham City Centre and it all started at the buss stop.

" Hello, your the writer arnt you?"

" Actually my pen is the writer"

" Could your pen write me a sensitive heart?"

"You do realise you can die from a sensitive heart?'

" Yes. but worse than death is having no heart:

""Then my pen will write you a sensitive heart" and a single tear run down the sensitive man's face, " Thank your pen for writing me this change of heart, for now I know a true heart needs to be worthy of love before it can love"

We got off the buss and parted company so pen and I could to listen to a young street performer playing her violin, but sadly her music was all alone and full of emptiness, she simply wasn't able to touch another human soul deeply, because she had nothing stored in her mind that she could call upon to use in the expression of her violin playing , and then my pen turned her violin nto a withering soul possessed, and I knew she would now do the even harder work by excepting all the hardships life would require in the necessity of her art. My pen and I were next drawn to a man with a powerful voice speaking with a big heart for the Lord and there was an intelligence in his words that tugged at my heart , but when the man with the powerful voice started talking about how he could perform miracles it all fell apart and the insanity of his message was clear .So I took my pen from my pocket, and my pen wrote in to the miracle workers heart, that every breath was a miracle and that every wriggle of the toe was a miracle, and these are in fact the only miracles that count.

Pen and I next entered Birmingham City Library, to take our seats and listen to a member of a writers group recite poetry, and a woman took her place at the podium, and she recited her poems about real things. and yet her poetry was not hard , it was beautiful, and these poems revealed to me everything she was and everything she wasn't...so I took my pen and wrote on a piece of paper:-

We both understand the looming dark clouds in our heart and eyes.
Will once again bestow upon us a promise of life and warmth and hope.


Unlike everyone else when Judy finished reciting her poetry I didn't applaud, but I walked up to the podium and gave her my piece of paper, Shortly afterwards I was sitting in the library cafeteria looking down at the people in the street below.

" Hello Jim" a voice said with a natural tone.

" Please sit down Judy"

" I can tell from your note that your a writer and I would like to be in one of your stories"

" Actually my pen is the writer"

" Will your pen write me in one of his stories"

" You are asking my pen to write you in to my life"

"And also my father who died recently, In to our life"

"Judy take the gold necklace from around my neck, open the locket and tell me what you see:

"I see a photo of my father, but how can that be "

"It's simple your father and I both have a deep connection towards you"

I then tore a sheet of blank paper from my note pad and handed it to Judy, and as she looked at the blank piece of paper, words suddenly appeared and I was a boy of sixteen again, curled up on the street and I am very drunk and I am playing with a little toy monkey, curling up around it like a baby, and I am covering it with a piece of newspaper, like I am trying to keep it warm. and then two policemen pick me up and they search me but I am ticklish and so I start to laugh, and then my parents step in and right away I know what my problem is. so I shout " Your tearing me apart" And when Judy finished reading my words on the blank piece of paper, her heart that was poetic wrote on that blank piece of paper these words and handed it to me.

I found you between the pages of my soul

In the space between the layers of my heart.

And as I read those words I knew I had spent my whole life just drifting around on a breeze until destiny bought us together. I also understood their was nothing out of the ordinary in our meeting and nor was their anything out of the ordinary in what our hearts felt , for in eternity even the rarest events get to occur, and things that only happen once in a trillion years or so become quite normal, so without the need of a pen, Judy and I wrote a beautiful life together.