Short Story 43: The Sorrow of an Ink Bottle

Short Story 43: The Sorrow of an Ink Bottle

.


My name is Ink. I’m a small bottle filled with blue ink, made of clear glass with a tightly sealed cap. I was born in a stationery factory in Johor, then sent to a boarding school to be used by students who write with fountain pens.


On my first day, a student named Riyadh picked me up from the supply cabinet. He was a diligent boy who loved writing notes and poetry. His handwriting was neat, and every letter written with his fountain pen looked graceful. I felt proud to be part of his learning.


But Riyadh wasn’t just any student. He was an only child, and his mother had recently passed away. I listened as he wrote poems about longing, loss, and hope. Every drop of my ink became a witness to the sadness he quietly carried.


One day, his fountain pen broke. Riyadh placed me in his drawer, and slowly, he began using regular pens. I was forgotten. Days turned into weeks. Dust gathered on my glass, and my ink began to dry. I felt lonely—I had once been a vessel of emotion, now I was just an empty bottle.


One afternoon, while cleaning his drawer, Riyadh found me again. He opened my cap and stared at the remaining ink. His eyes glistened.


“This ink bottle… I used it to write poems for my mother,” he whispered.


He took out a new fountain pen he had just bought and began writing again. I came back to life. My ink flowed onto paper, forming words that touched the heart.


Now, I’m used to it once more. Though I don’t hold as much ink as before, I know I carry deep meaning. I’m not just an ink bottle. I’m a witness to love, loss, and the strength of a son.


And I’ll remain by his side, as long as words continue to flow from heart to page.

.

By: Siti Isah Ithnin




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

1. Kenapa Telinga Gajah Besar?

6. Kenapa Belakang Unta Berbonggol?

2. Kenapa Leher Zirafah Panjang