The Lucky Pencil

I am a boring old pencil. 

The long, yellow, bland kind.

The one with a normal-shaped graphite piece. 

The one with that cylinder-shaped eraser that’s pink and not shaped like something cool, or colored something awesome. 

The boring kind. 

 I am so unlucky. 

All the other pencils get taken away to be heroes, to be treated like they’re queens, to be shown off. They’re the ones with cool designs printed on them, heart-shaped graphite pieces, and erasers that sharpen to a point. They’re the chosen ones. They’re the lucky ones.

I’m… the normal one. The one that everyone looks over like it doesn’t exist. Do you remember that one? Do you remember how you groan when the teacher hands it to you, wishing you got the cooler one, the black one with vampire bats on it, the mechanical one that has instant refills, the professional one that boasts the sharpest point?

Do you remember how you despised that pencil, and you told your friends, “Aww, I got the worst pencil again! I wish I got the one with the rainbow stripes on it. Or at least the one with vampire bats.”

And you say this all while the pencil is on your desk, listening to it all. 

Humans can be cruel. 

I live in that stationary store that always seems to be in a corner somewhere. It’s called Pencil Paradise. You can find me on rack 3, hook 2. Who am I kidding? Like anyone would want to find me. By the way, that means I live on the third rack from the bottom and two hooks to the right. It’s about as normal a spot as you can get. I am an individual pencil, along with my roommates: Grapho, Plenci, and Eraz. 

I am one of the unnamed pencils; again, as normal as you can get. 

When the pencils started running out of good, pencil-related names, they just started calling us Pencil 1, Pencil 2, Pencil 3, and so on. I forgot which pencil I am. Somewhere in the two hundred sixties. 

Anyways, us pencils are always bored– nothing to do except hang on a hook, with a string tied around you. Whenever a human passes by our place, we always perk up and try to look as pencil-y as possible. But no one’s ever noticed me. No one will ever notice me. I’ll probably stay in Pencil Paradise– which really isn’t much of a paradise– forever. 

Suddenly, I hear footsteps. A human! Maybe this is my chance. Probably not. No human has ever bought anyone in my rack before. And I’m at the back, so I have even less of a chance. The ones at the back are the ones who have the least hope. The ones that everyone pities. 

The one that I am. 

But no, the human takes a shiny pack of mechanical, colorful pencils and skips away happily. I almost cried. What’s wrong with me?

Everything. I know. You don’t need to remind me. 

“I guess they didn’t notice us again,” I grumbled to Grapho, my best friend. 

“Yeah,” sighed Grapho. “Hey, Pencil, do you think we could make a plan? To get humans to notice us? I’m so tired of hanging here, bored out of my mind. If we can get humans to notice us, we’ll be famous! I hear that they show us off in front of the whole world and everyone wishes that they were like them.”

“Well, I definitely wish I was like some of the chosen ones,” I sighed. 

“Me too,” complained Grapho. “So we need to make a plan. To get famous.”

“Why don’t we escape from this rack first…” I thought out loud, “And then steal some of the other pencil’s colors? Then for sure we’ll be noticed!”

“You’re right!” breathed Grapho excitedly. “That’s what we’ll do! Let’s do it now!”

We hopelessly wriggled around in their string, but we just couldn’t escape. 

“Now what?” sighed Grapho, dejected. “We can’t escape–”

Grapho stopped when he noticed a human coming. All the pencils stopped and stood ramrod straight. I tried my best to shine. 

The small human made a beeline toward our hook. I caught my breath excitedly. Was this the moment? Was this the–

I almost gasped in horror and elation when the human grabbed Grapho and accidentally grabbed me, too. Horror because at first, I thought they were taking away my best friend, and elation when I realized I’d be going too. 

“Yes!” I risked saying. 

All the other pencils around us sighed  jealousy and indignantly. One even whispered, “How could they do that? They’re so… normal.”

I ignored them, happiness flooding me. That is, until the human frowns and says, “Mommy, I thought I only took one pencil.”

The human fingers me and starts to put me back on the hook, but then the ‘Mommy’ character says, “You might need that pencil! Who knows, you could lose this one.”

“You’re right!” squeals the human. “I’ll keep you, pencil!”

I deflated, embarrassed and trying hard not to burst into tears. I was just an accident– the human had always meant to take Grapho. All the pencils snickered. They loved it when something happened like this. And admittedly, I had snickered along with the rest when this happened to other pencils, but I didn’t love being laughed at when I was the pencil everyone was giggling about. 

“Let’s go!” said the kid. “This is a great pencil for back-to-school shopping!”

And with that, the human dropped me into a bag. I fell with a thud, screaming, and landed at the surprisingly cushioning bottom with Grapho beside me. 

“Whew!” sighed Grapho. “That was… hard. I didn’t know being famous came with so much being dropped!”

I drooped. “Don’t you get it?” I asked, close to tears. “I was an accident! I wasn’t supposed to become famous! And now everyone’s laughing at me!”

Embarrassed and sad, I lay down on the bottom of the bag. 

“Hey!” said Grapho indignantly. I shoot up, mad. Why is Grapho mad at me? “You heard the Mommy person! She said they might need you!”

“The key word in that sentence is might,” I said sadly. “Might, might, might. I’m just a normal, boring pencil.”

“And so am I!” cried Grapho. “But they chose us!”

“I guess so,” I sighed, and we both sat in uncomfortable silence as other things came tumbling into the red bag– erasers, scissors (“Ow!” said Grapho when he tried touching the shiny part), tape, and oddly, headphones. 

“Time to go!” said the human. She had short brown hair and sky blue eyes and a white shirt with blue pants. I noticed this as we were placed onto a counter where a bright red light beamed at us. I squeezed my eyes shut. That hurt!

We were then taken on a rickety ride, with bumps and jostling and lots of complaining. Then, the humans placed us on a table once we arrived at the destination. 

The first thing the human did was take out Grapho. She admired him, saying, “This is a perfect pencil!”

I felt even more sorry for myself when she took me out and said, “This is okay…”

She placed us both on the desk. 

“First day of school is tomorrow, Emily!” called the mom. 

“I know,” said Emily. “Second grade will probably be so hard…”

“I’m sure you’ll make it through,” dismissed Mom. “It’s only one year.”

Emily took out all the supplies in turn (I bounced back from the scissors– they were sharp) and then leapt upstairs. We spent the day talking about our good fortune. 

“This is going to be so fun!” exclaimed Grapho. “Fun fun fun! And even better, we’re famous! Everyone’s probably talking about us right now!”

Not in a good way, I added silently. They were probably laughing about us. A wave of embarrassment drenches me thoroughly. 

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Time to sleep.”

“Good night!” said Grapho. 

“You too,” I said, before shutting my eyes. Sleep came quickly, after all the events of today. In my dreams, pencils jeered and laughed and teased me, saying I was an accident, I wasn’t supposed to be famous. In my dreams, Grapho started to turn on me, and joined the pencils, teasing me with them. In my dreams, Emily looked at me in disgust, her eyes seeming to say, 'I hate you.'

When I woke up, Grapho was being taken away by Emily. 

“I’m off to school!” he shouted. But just as Emily was about to leave, the mom shouted, “Don’t forget the backup pencil!”

Backup, I thought, disgusted with myself. I’m just a backup.

“Well, off we go!” said Emily as she grabbed me. Then, we went off to this ‘school’ place. 

“I’m so excited!” grinned Grapho. “So so so excited!”

“Mm-hmm,” I grumbled, jealous and grumpy. 

Grapho bounces all the way there. Emily sets me on a wooden desk and pulls out a thing labeled pencil sharpener. 

“What’s that?” asks Grapho cheerfully. 

Emily doesn’t reply, and sticks Grapho into the hole on one end. Then, she turns him inside of the hole. Grapho screams in pain. 

“My skin! HELP! It hurts! It burns! It’s attacking me!” yells Grapho, his voice muffled by the pencil sharpener. I stiffen. What’s happening? He’s supposed to be all good! We’re supposed to be shown off now, famous to the whole world! 

Instead, Grapho is being tortured. 

I’m glad that I’m a backup. I don’t want that to happen to me. When Grapho comes back out, he’s unrecognizable. A shiny, gray graphite piece sticks out. Our graphite pieces have always been flat and dull, but his is sharp and pointy. 

“What’s happened?” I asked, panicking. “What happened to you?”

“I don’t know!” sobbed Grapho. “It hurts! Ow ow ow… OW!”

Emily scratches his brand new, sharp graphite piece onto a white piece of paper. The piece turns dull. He shrieks in agony. 

 “Ow,” he screams. “Stop! Why are you doing this to me?”

He dissolves in sobs, but Emily doesn’t seem to notice. She scratches out an E, an M, an I, an L, and a Y. 

Emily. How selfish and vain! Writing her name with the torture of innocent pencils!

I watch numbly, trying to help but unable to, as Grapho is used more and more. Pain and torture, this classroom. This is torture place. I’m so very glad that I’m the backup, and so sad for Grapho, and so mad at Emily. I thought she was nice, but in reality, she’s the meanest, cruelest creature in the world. 

I was never used. Or tortured. On that day or the many days afterward. Grapho whimpered in pain beside me every 

single night, long after all the kids had left and abandoned their pencils. When that year was over, we were both tossed into a trash can. That was the best day of my life. Now, we live in the dumps, sheltered by garbage bags and rotten banana peels. It may not be a good life, but it’s safe. Grapho will never be the same. 

And neither will I. 

Never. 

I’ve learned from this– never be jealous of something you haven’t seen yet. And also, I hate Emily. Another useful bit of wisdom. Any human is cruel. Emily especially. 

If something like this happens to you, then try to be the backup. Or better yet, the backup to the backup. Or the backup to the backup to the backup to the backup to the backup to the backup.

Take this as a warning. 

Don’t say I didn’t warn you…