Humor | Fiction

You Just Can’t Contain A Pencil

How a pencil conquers the world and then doesn’t

“It’s me.”

“It’s my turn.”

“Shove off.”

“It’s me.”

I used to think my pens and pencils spoke to each other, I daren’t repeat what some of those conversations would draw out.

Staring at the rarely used pens and pencils on my desk, took me back to junior school days.

Miss Pencil was the fashion of the day at the time. Long, slender and all rubbery tipped.

It took a bit to maintain her.

A bit high maintenance some would say.

She’d start all sharp and to the point, but soon she would become blurry as her tip started to blunt.

Then she would be shoved into the grinding device. It’s worse than it sounded as she twists and twists and bits of her start to come off.

I could almost hear her squeal. Not sure if that was in delight or perhaps even indignation about the lengths she had to go to maintain her elegance. Shorter. Yes. Slightly stubbier. Perhaps. But elegant in her hexagonal way.

There were all sorts in that pencil case, which sharp little Miss Pencil would have to mix with.

There was Mrs Pen, she wrote in black ink. You can’t rub her out she would point out. Not quite so handy, when there’s a mistake, Miss Pencil would say, that’s why I know I am often chosen you see.

Then there’s Ms Blue Pen who is somewhat popular, a bit of a threat, but not so much, as most chose black over blue, it is true.

No one is keen on Mr Red Pen, he makes the work look all cross and utterly deficient.

We all lie there together waiting till the zip is opened.

Chubby fingers scrunch around to grab one of us.

We jostle to the top, to be the chosen one.

Today I know it’s going to be me. It has been a while, you see.

But Mrs Black Pen laughed at me, she thinks it will be her because our owner has been practising.

A pen licence indeed!

She sneers at me, soon you will be obsolete she shares. A thing of the past.

I worry ever so much about when this would happen.

Now I look at Mrs Black, Ms Blue and Mr Red, and can’t contain my chuckle but also can’t help but feel sad, as we have all become more obsolete. Tools of the past it could be said.

I took a creative writing class a while ago, and the assignment was to write about a pencil or pen. At the time I thought why, and when would this ever come in handy?

So just goes to show there’s a place for everything, and every pen and pencil in its place.

This piece was written in response to a contest for Hope, Healing and Humour writers, courtesy of Liberty Forrest, Author and Witchy.

Don’t miss this fun piece by a writer whose work I always enjoy Karen Schwartz

© Bernie Pullen, All Rights Reserved