The pen gliding gracefully across the page, dancing up, down and sideways, swooping and swirling to create a beautiful work of art. Each drop of ink going towards something special, each drop having a purpose and a place to be. No matter it would probably be his last piece. No matter that no one would ever see it or any of his other pieces. No matter that no one cared. For now all that existed was the swirls and swoops of the pen. All that existed was the intricate dance the pen was doing over the paper. All that was in that rare moment of peace and silence was the artist, the paper and the pen. He didn’t care that no one cared about him. He didn’t care that no one would see his art, or even want to if they knew. All he cared about was getting done with his last piece before the world was done with him. One. Last. Piece.
Thanks, as always, to 
Prompt: pen
Set your timer for 5 minutes
Start writing
Use the hashtag #freewrite
Publish your piece (include a link to this post if you wish)
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