Quill

I met a writer once when I was a kid. He's not famous, but the book he wrote is well-known, if not for the best of reasons these days. I got his autograph, and it said that my pen would open all doors for me.

He meant creative writing, of course, but I'm realizing that the pen's power, no matter what you're writing. Few things scarier in this country than a Black person with an education. Now you need a diploma along with a measured hand on the quill, of course, but the same principle applies. Best defense against what this nation's done to us is in the mind.

But the part of this gift that I loved the best, that was creation. With the quill, I've written heroes, villains, and my favorite, those who'd spit on both in their own way. I've made castles of mirrored steel, endless mazes of absurdity, desolate plains of regret. Nothing's more valuable than something you made with your own mind and a steady hand, whether it's art or craft or lore. That's why those that be will take it from you any chance they get, whether directly or by making it cheaper to just buy creation off someone else.

And yet, it's not all it's cracked up to be. World's full of locked doors. So's my mind. And behind them's all the answers I crave. So I dip the quill and try and write myself a skeleton key. Again.