As strangely convincing as the creepy old man was, you're not about to trust your performance on a major test or paper to a 'magical' pen purely on faith. You decide you've first got to test this pen and determine which—if any—of the shopkeeper's outlandish claims are true.
Grabbing a napkin from a nearby dispenser, you pull out the pen and, after a moment's hesitation, try writng.
”This is a test.” you write.
Nothing obviously magical happens, but you do note with some satisfaction that the pen writes very smoothly, even on the napkin.
”My name is Eliot.” you continue.
Again, nothing special happens, but then that's true; your name is Eliot. This is it, the moment of (un)truth; it's time to write a falsehood. Taking a deep breath, you press the pen against the napkin and write:
”I am writing in an expensive notebook.”
As soon as you place the final period, you jolt back with a start. With absolutely no fanfare whatsoever, the crumpled napkin before you is replaced by a thick, leather-bound journal inscribed with your initials in gold across the cover.
Stunned you stare at the journal in shock. At first you reason that this must be a trick, a con-game on the part of the old man. But how could he have known what you would write? You hadn't even known until the moment before you did it. No, somehow—impossibly—this thing would seem to be real. But instead of refusing to write falsehoods, the pen apparently rewrote reality itself so that what you'd written would be true.
After a moment spent reconciling your worldview to the existence of genuine magic, your excitement overcomes your bewilderment and you decide to try some more. The only question is... what will you write?
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