The Scribe - my answer to my own challenge

My offering for the last post. A bit of writing using a red pen that is out of ink, a plant, a coffee mug, something made of crystal, and the number 5.

~~~

The Scribe

The quill pen tapped on the blotter again, trying to coax just a little more ink down to the nib. Red ink was expensive, so every last drop was to be used to its fullest worth, but the pen had run dry. And with no more ink in the well there was nothing to be done but give up on the transcriptions for the day.

Cursing softly under his breath, the old scribe pressed blotting paper to the page he had been working on to make sure that the ink already on it was dry. Satisfied he placed a cloth bookmark in place and closed the large tome, setting it back on the shelf. He would finish his work in the morning, after he had purchased more red ink.

For now, he would sleep. It was late and his bones were weary. Ink stained fingers lifted a small watering can and poured a carefully measured amount of water into the soil of a pot setting on the edge of the desk. The plant that grew in the clay pot was a graceful looking thing with wispy branches that supported full perfectly shaped leaves of frosted green. A few words were spoken to the plant. Quiet murmurings of how beautiful it was, then the aged scribe set aside the watering can and picked up his cracked ceramic coffee mug.

The liquid within the mug was more tonic to warm his aged bones than coffee, but winter was setting in and the years had made joints ache more with every passing summer. A bit of tonic in his coffee now and then felt good. Slowly he finished off the remaining bit of warm liquid. The mug set back on the desk the old scribe picked up a small crystal bowl and poured the remaining milk from his supper into it. Delicate criss-cross cuts in the crystal caught the candlelight as he set the bowl on the floor and called out to the kittens that had fallen asleep in corners of the room.

One by one the five young cats made their way from slumber across the room to investigate the bowl they had been offered. Quietly saying good night to each purring kitten, the old scribe collected the low burning candle and made his way up the staircase toward bed.

~~~