Cooper sat in his parent’s car on the way to a Christmas celebration with his relatives. He rode with his dad, mom, and two brothers. No one talked; it wasn’t uncomfortable silence, just expectant. They arrived at their grandparent’s house and filed out of the vehicle.
Then, Garrett, the younger of Cooper’s brothers, said, “I wonder what presents we’ll get.” The excitement was evident in his voice.
“Me too,” Cooper said. The five family members crunched through the thin snow to the door. They entered the house and entered a cheery, welcoming atmosphere.
Now, I wish not to bore you with the shared conversations and food, so we’ll skip to the present time. Cooper was handed a small box with his name on it; he studied it carefully. When his turn to open it came, he unwrapped his gift and looked at what was inside. It was a wooden box with a pen inside.
“We gave you that because we know you like to write so much,” his grandfather told him.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful,” Cooper said.
The pen was beautiful with a metal cap, a polished wooden body and gold letters stating its brand: Bridge. The rest of the festivities passed in a blur. Upon arriving home, Cooper tried out his new pen. It really was a find piece of craftsmanship; the black ink was smooth and bold. Cooper wrote a story for fun. It began with a sword master whose village was raided by bandits. He finished the tale and thought, “I wonder what it would be like to be the main character.” As he put the final period to the story, something strange happened.
The pages rippled as if water. The words began to glow bright blue. Cooper was lifted from his chair, levitating in front of his manuscript. Then he was gone, and the pages fluttered down to his desk. Cooper found himself falling into an expanse of color. He fell for quite some time. His eyes were closed, and Cooper was unaware of all around him.
Cooper awoke on a dirt road, somehow standing upright. A sword was strapped to his back, and he was standing in a village. He felt something in his pocket, so he pulled out the pen. He took the cap off and felt a rush of cold compared to the warm sun he had just felt. He was back at his desk, pen in hand.
“What the?” Cooper thought. He looked at his pen and saw the word, Bridge glowing softly. Then it clicked: the pen was a bridge between our world and that of fantasy.
Cooper smiled and began writing another story.
