Emahoy Tsegué-Maryam Guèbrou - "Tenkou! Why Feel Sorry?"

"Tenkou!" said the paper to the pen, "Why feel sorry?" The pen was wilted, limp in the afternoon sun. "I am full of a great nothing," replied Tenkou, the pen. The paper, whose name was Gita, sat up straight and beamed the sun wrinkly off her chest, "That cannot be true," she said. "Yes, it's true," said Tenkou, and he retreated to the shadow made by the edge of the window. "Show me," said Gita, the blank paper, "show me your great nothing." "Don't be silly," said Tenkou, "I say I have nothing and so showing you will only embarrass me." Gita was silent and rested back down on the writing desk. The sun was so hot on her face. The two sat like that for some time. Tenkou, the pen, staring sullen at the wall, and Gita, the paper, lying on her back, eyes closed, in the sun. Soon, she began to hum a tune and smile. "Tell me the story, Tenkou," and Tenkou squirmed at this beginning, "of when you beat your brother in the race to the pen jar, and he leaked all over himself." Tenkou clenched his jaw, chewed down firmly on his sadness, but could not hold it with all his will. He could not help but let a smile form at the sides of his mouth. That was indeed a funny story.

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(thanks We Can Build You and Boing Boing)