Mark

I walk into the office and there, perched mercilessly are the rulers of that realm.

So simple, yet so life sucking.

Entered awaits the embrace of my hand, only to be pounded down on the paper.

He loves the moment when I lift him into the air, weightless, a pit forming in his stomach.

With his cap off he eyes the paper below him.

Woosh, the air goes screaming past, filling up his insides.

He feels himself compress, ink flowing from him like an open wound.

And in an instant the pressure is gone.

Again the weightless feeling as he is drawn up into the heavens.

Once more he peers down upon the paper, now left with his mark.

He feels the world closing in on him, his cap having been replaced.

But as he sits, master of his domain, he knows, his name has been left.