Autobiography of a Pen

I am a Cell Phone. Everyone owns me these days. My life begins when I’m manufactured in a factory. Sometimes I’m made or assembled in China. People sometimes mock me for being Chinese, I wonder why? I’m then placed in a cozy box with my friend the “Charger” and placed on shelves in the stores.   Customers come and after thoughtful consideration, choose me. The moment my box is opened everyone gathers around and look me. Children are the most excited as they fight among each other to play with me.

The adult owners use me for the real purpose. I give them happiness when they talk to their near or dear ones or when they converse through messages. I even ease out their job by sending emails. After a hard days work my owner rewards me by recharging. But sometimes I’m used in the middle of the night. I’m fed up with the “Night time special call rate” packages offered by different telecommunication companies. Was I made to help grow this madness?

My life is also full of dangers. People drop me on the ground. I get broken screens, bruised buttons and cracked casings. Sometimes I get lost or stolen which is bad for my health you see. Sometimes intentionally I’m hurt. Children put inside there mouth and even soak me in water.

Even with all this happening in my life, I like helping my owner. Serving them as a communication device is like a dream come true. But at the time of my end I don’t want to be   kept in drawers or thrown away as garbage. I would prefer a proper ending and would like to be recycled