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Life of an Inanimate Object: Part VI: Sharp

posted Mar 9, 2017, 5:27 PM by Jeffrey Wolf

By: Megan Cichon, Entertainment Editor

Posted March 9th, 2017


Part VI: Sharp

When he came home from school the next day, he threw his backpack down against the wall and walked to where I lay on his desk. He sat down in the chair, picked me up, and began writing again.

“The moon had risen in the sky, casting a pale blue light over the city. I was moving quickly towards my destination--”

I felt a sharp pain shake me to my core, and I cried out.

“Piper?!” A pencil screamed, “Piper!”

I looked back down at the paper, and saw a tiny bit of my graphite tip lying on the paper. I hadn’t known that breaking my graphite would hurt so much.

“I’m fine,” I called back, “Just broke my graphite.”

The boy frowned and set me down on the desk. I watched him pull open a desk drawer and bring out a tiny square object with two differently sized holes in the side. There were shiny things on the top, and they looked kinda sharp. I wondered what the purpose of this object was.

The boy picked me up and placed my broken tip into one of the holes of the object. Oh, I thought to myself, this must be some kind of graphite repair thing. This’ll feel great.

I have never been more wrong about anything in my entire life. I have never, ever had a thought as far from correct as that one was. As soon as he twisted me, I spiking pain shot up my body. I saw a small shaving of my wood fall onto the desk. And I shouted, quite loudly. A few of the pencils called out to me, but the boy twisted me again, and another shaving fell onto the desk. He twisted me again, and again, and again, and again...

Finally he removed me from the device, and observed my tip. Seemingly dissatisfied, he put me back into the device and twisted me several more times. With each new twist, the wood surrounding my graphite became more and more sore. He removed me again, and seeming satisfied, he dropped me back on the desk.

“PIPER!” Chorused many pencils.

I didn’t reply, only watched in pain as the boy swept all of my wood shavings off his desk and into the garbage.

“Piper?” A few pencils called.

“I’m okay,” I assured them, “I might not feel okay, but I’m alive.”

The boy picked me up again, and smiled in satisfaction.

“There ya go,” he said happily, “All sharp again.”

Sharp? I thought, looking down. I gasped. My tip, which had before been broken, was now new and improved. It was so sharp and gracefully pointed. I noticed I was a tad shorter, but I was so beautiful.

“He fixed me!” I cried out, overjoyed.

He set me back on the paper again, and we continued to write together.

“...on foot. There was a light rain falling from the sky, and it had long ago soaked through my clothes. I wouldn’t--couldn’t--stop walking. I kept pushing forward, ever determined to find her...”


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