The Best Pen in The Wasteland
A Pilot Precise V5. Rolling ball. Most of its rubber grip was worn away, the shaft of the barrel was wrapped entirely in old, blue electrical tape, and its pocket-clip was bent too.
Yes it was old, it was beat up, but it was a Pilot Precise V5. And, and . . .
The man's gloved hand, quivering in positive anticipation, swooped down and snatched the pen from the previous owner's grasp, rescuing it from the slow spread of blood and putting it into the care of its new guardian's careful grasp.
The man held the pen up to the sun to gain a lighter perspective, but seemed to change his mind, opting to instead remove the cap, which came off with a rather satisfying click, and observe the tip. It was bent in two different directions, but, as the small, black blot on the end of that tip dictated, it indeed had ink.
Scorpions and snakes over a hundred feet away darted away into their dark hiding places in response to the man's loud, drawn-out shout of joy. A quick test on a small notepad confirmed the ink's presence, and the man whimpered in excitement.
He then did as he had originally planned to do and held his source of happiness up to the sun's light once more, examining it.
Yes, yes indeed. It was a Pilot Precise V5, rolling ball. With ink no less! It truly was a good day.
The pen enthusiast quivered with cheerful laughter and, heels-a-clickin', he sped off into the horizon, kicking up sand and leaving heavy boot-prints in his wake, leaving behind the massive, burning compound and the piles of corpses as he did so. He had forgotten what he had been doing there, if he had caused the explosion, or even if he had killed the other man to get his pen, but it no longer mattered. Why?
Because he had a Precise Pilot V5. Rolling Ball. With ink. Lots of it.
Now all he needed was a Pilot Vanishing-Point Fountain Pen, and his collection would be complete.
And then he would finally be allowed to die.