Pencil Dust

I have been the dragon. I captured the damsel and cause her distress. My scaly green tail cleared courtyards with one powerful sweep. My hot breath has billowed up spiraling staircases. I have burned my own bridges.

And then I was erased.

I have been the slayer. I have braved the dragon's castle and miraculously evaded many fiery deaths. I have escaped mortal blows from its massive tail, nor have I been impaled by its fearsome claws. I have rushed headlong up those endless steps but never collected my reward. I never met the captive maiden who was to be mine.

Because I was erased.

I have been the damsel in distress, long-suffering, beauteous and charming. Inexplicably held captive by the green monster below. I languished at the top of the tower, gazing wistfully over the empty landscape, waiting for my one true love.

Only to be erased.

I have sat and watched, knees pulled up to my chest, arms wrapped tightly around myself. Waiting, hoping he'll need me. I tried not to show my jealousy as I watched others play, fight and love before they, too, were erased.

I have hurled through space at the speed of light. Set on a collision course with one tiny blue ball. Why? I wanted to ask. If I’m speeding through all this nothingness, if we can imagine infinity, why do I need to crash into the one blue marble? Why not that red one, or the one full of light and heat? Maybe he heard my plea.

For I was erased again.

Only to be rebuilt and sent to travel through the same void. I sensed life inside me. Not dragons, nor dragon slayers, not even damsels in distress. These creatures looked nothing like what I had seen before. They had multiple arms or were those legs? Carapaces and feelers rather than eyes. They were so much smaller than the dragon slayer and crawled over each other to find comfort and food. I wanted to cry in protest when we did crash into that tiny blue ball and almost obliterated it. The small creatures escaped.

Before I was erased, again.

I have been a child, a young girl. Quizzically I looked up at him, wondering how he would know what a young girl thought or felt. How could he predict her reactions to whatever he would throw at her. He must have sensed my hesitation, for then I was a boy. Short pants, knee socks that didn’t stay up. Shirts that would never come clean again. A frog wiggling in my pocket. Running through fields, laughing, jumping over cow patches, sometimes missing the jump. Wading through creeks, thinking that would clean me. Crawling on my stomach to ambush the enemy. Frantically tossing snowballs from behind a rickety barrier. I was never given the chance to celebrate my triumphs and dissolve into laughter.

Since I was erased, again.

I found myself in a war. A war so gruesome I prayed to be erased. I trudged through darkened streets, deep in thought, memories I had not made swirling through my head. I found myself longing for something, for someone I could not name. I remember feeling despair and loneliness.

And hoped to be erased.

I have been a killer and knew my victims. I have run amok through streets, eliminating all that crossed my path. I forced society to hunker down and hide. I felt the pain I inflicted, laughed at the suffering I caused. He imbued a sense of pride in me and showed me the sloppy red trail that led to my lair. Here I leisurely licked my paws, savoring the coppery tang of fresh blood. What was I each time he flexed his darker side?

Before I was allowed to strengthen my character, to grow as a monster, I was set aside again. Once again, I huddled in my corner, longed to skate with the pencil and glide over the pristine paper while I become again.

Suddenly, his fury was palpable. With new resolve he made me into a devil. I trembled at the thoughts he gave me. I cowered at the attitudes he forced on me. For days and weeks, he pushed me into the darkness, demanded that I become the master of this realm. Through me, he experimented with torture. Then he'd change my mind and thus the fate of my victims. Then suddenly, I would be given respite and allowed to curl up and snuggle next to the pen. Only to be awakened and dragged back to the beginning. Over and over, he manufactured my malevolence only to soften at the first sight of beauty.

Then I would be mercifully erased.

I have been a poet, a dreamer. I wandered the land, trailing my hand along tall grasses and picking wildflowers. I counted the petals on daisies and imagined all the ways I could love her. Who? I never learned for I became a painter. A renowned and celebrated artist. I painted magic. My work was uniquely meaningful to each who gazed upon my art. Then he put me into my own work. From my masterpiece I lured her. I smiled with a charm I had not been taught and pull her to my side. He showed me how to kiss and enjoy her softness.

Over and over, I was allowed to seduce her. Afterwards he'd erase me.

One day I almost laughed when I became a divorce lawyer. When he poured his bitterness into me and made me battle the same fight repeatedly. Each time he gave me new words, the ones he wished he had used. Each time he made me bigger and fiercer. Each time his win was better.

He'd hi-five and erase me.

The forest to where he banished us was dark and cold. The tall trees blocked the sun. Nothing grew or lived near the roots. I trudged through the twilight. Some days I had little more than an animal skin for protection. Other times I had hiking gear and even a tent. Sometimes there was a path that was used by others. Other days I was the first one there. I became an animal, a bear looking for a mate. Looking to force myself on the next she-bear that crossed my path.

And each time I reached the edge of the forest, each time I glimpsed daylight, he erased me.

I have been waiting here, on the edge of the paper, lovingly caressing the pencil stub. I have wondered about the light coming from small box. With curiosity, I have watched the flickering symbols speed and retreat across the light I hoped he’d see me and use me again. For I’m only alive when he gives me purpose. When he pulls and prods, when he forces his breath into me and gives me his voice.

One day, I sense he fights himself to reach that day, I may have a voice of my own. Then he might let go of my hand and send me away as a fully formed character, one we both will be proud of.

But until then, I hope he will make and erase me, again.