The story of an unwanted pencil
I have a lovely blue pencil that has been living on my desk for as long as I can remember (that's about 6 months then).
The rubber (eraser) on the top has gone but its mighty golden crown remains and is unchewed.
It is a grand 3 inches long, it doesn't know how long it is in mm cm m or any other new age measurements as it was made long before metrificatication.
It is blunt but not in a nasty way. It remembers being larger at some point in the past but it has chosen perhaps wisely to block out certain painful experiences and now never complains that it has to be pressed to the media with increasing force to leave its mark.
I call it my pencil, nobody else wants to look after it, kidnap it or accidentally loose it somewhere.
I can almost see it smiling at the other stationary when they occasionally join it on the desk. They look really happy for themselves being all new fangled and ball pointy. They don't stick around long.
Pencil is still there, he is happy to be a pencil. He has decided that it's better to be a blunt almost useless balding implement.
It could be worst he thinks. I could be a pen.