"Pen Rest"

Technically, this picture shows a stylus on top of its rest. Oops.

"And that's it for tonight," I said aloud. I tipped my head backward against the couch and closed my eyes, and laid my open notebook across my lap like a blanket.

"Another story?" I heard a voice say.

I opened my eyes. My pen was spinning between my index and middle finger as if I had gotten bored and begun twirling it myself. "Story time?" it asked.

"I think I need some rest," I said. "I'm imagining talking to my pen, for crying out loud." 

"But you can rest later," the pen protested. "You're already dreaming now." 

It was logic I found difficult to argue down. So I cradled my pen between forefinger and thumb with the gentleness I might have shown a child, and I drew my notebook close to my chest, taking comfort between its sheets.