The dark, blunt end scrapes across the pristine white surface, leaving a thick black line. The scrawlings are fuzzy and unintelligible; the girl sighs, exasperated.
Alone in her room, she scolds the pencil.
¨I sharpened you only a few minutes ago! You are very rude. At this rate you will be nothing but a stub by the end of the week!¨
She slowly pushes out the antique chair she was seated upon, plodding the short distance to her small rubbish bin.
Clutching her pencil and sharpener, she obsessively grinds the pencil down to a fine point.
Miniscule curls of wood and graphite tumble into the plastic-bagged abyss. The girl could imagine the sharpenings crying out in horror as they fell into the trash. She lightly touches the point of her writing utensil to test it.
Satisfied, the girl sits down and proceeds to contemplate her next sentence.
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