Once- in a classroom, in a school, in a city, in a country.
There was a pencil, he was small, the smallest pencil there was.
He had the cheapest lead, the poorest eraser and the least use out of all of them.
All the other pencils laughed at him, they all told him "You're so useless, no one wants you."
And "Why don't you just stop trying, no one cares about such a pathetic pencil!"
The little pencil was not loved. Day in and day out- he'd watch, as his brothers and sisters were used all across the classroom. He'd watch all the children laugh and smile, he'd watch them from atop the shelf, collecting dust. He was a lonely little pencil.

           He thought to himself "Why am I not used like the others? Why don't the kids like using me, why doesn't anyone care about me?" The little pencil, didn't understand why the others hated him so. He could not understand that the class had no use for such a small little pencil. The others continued to make fun of him, they continued to torcher him and remind him he was useless. Yet still- he did not break to their wills. The little pencil still tried. He kept Thinking about how he had to keep trying. How he had to prove, even though he was a small pencil, he was still useful. He was so motivated- To prove himself. He knew he had to make the others see that he had a perpose. A Perpose that rose above all others. He knew he was special, no matter how much he was hated- or neglected- or mocked. His motivation remained unshaken.

         Slowly, he noticed his brothers and sisters weren't there as much. He noticed that there were fewer and fewer of them everyday. The laughs of the children began to grow silent. The taunts of his fellow pencils were growing fewer as well. "Am I getting even more alone?" The little pencil asked himself, atop the cold and desolate shelf. He had seen another pencil, it was his older brother, he cried out to him "Brother~! Why have all of us grown so thin in numbers? Why do the children no longer laugh- and why don't you guys make fun of me anymore?" with tears in his eyes. His brother replied "Little pencil, Usless, unloved, pathetic, little pencil. We grow thin because our use is being replaced. We cannot compete with the others who have come. We are now just like you. Soon, you'll be the only one left. You'll be even lonlier. Oh well~" His brother then collapsed, motionless. The little pencil felt an over whelming sorrow in his heart.

            Like his lost brothers and sister had said. He was useless. He felt no more perpose. He felt his motivation fade from him, he felt his heart grow heavey with ache and his mind was clouded with misunderstanding. "WHY- WHY AM I SO USELESS?! WHY DO YOU ALL HATE ME- WHY DO YOU ALL MAKE FUN OF ME?! WHY- IF I HAVE NO PERPOSE WHY CAN I NOT JOIN YOU ALL- WHY AM I NOT ALLOWED TO REST- WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE LEFT HERE, ALONE AND SCARED?! Why can't I go with you all...?" He closed his eyes crying, scared and alone he laid there in entrapy. Time passed. The little pencil grew more and more cold. His heart was no longer filled with happiness, hope or love. The little pencil was indeed now useless. Everyday- he felt more lonely, more sad, more hurt. Everyday the only thing he wanted to do was rest. Months passed- and still nothing. The little pencil, once so happy, had his spirit broken. He no longer wanted perpose, he no longer wanted love, he no longer wanted to be used.

                The little pencil rettained this way of thinking for a very long time, until one day- One of the children Grabbed him. He felt scared, he was confused "Why now?!" he thought to himself as he succumb to his fear. "What a small little pencil, Will this even be able to write?" The child asked the teacher. "It still has some use, go ahead." The teacher tells the child. The small boy runs back to his desk, with the little pencil in his hand. The little pencil was afraid- Why was the boy using him now? When all of his brothers and sisters were gone, after all had abandoned him, why now? The boy pulled a spare piece of paper out from his desk, and set it before himself. The little pencil was no longer afraid, He no longer cared. The boy began to draw on the paper, squiggling and doodling stick men, stick women, stick dogs and stick houses. The little pencil felt so disgusting, he thought "Is this what it means to be used? Do I serve no other perpose then this?" the boy continued to doodle until the little pencil, in all his worth, broke. That was it- He felt the pain of this event, it was sharper and harder than any other pain he suffered before. This pain- hurt so much more than being alone, it hurt so much more than being mocked, it hurt so much more- then being useless.

                               The boy looked at the little pencil, his confusion smirked across his face. The little pencil could feel it. He could feel himself fading. "Is this what---being used means? This is what I always wanted? All those things I had thought---Being so motivated, so hopeful. It all led me to this? My want of being useful---has led me to my own destruction..." The little pencil, in all of his innoecence, in all of his kindness and with all of the hope in his heart, he looked up and said. "I was useful..I did something good--my life may end, but it was with perpose. if I have to die---I die with happiness." The litte pencil closed his eyes and smiled. He saw what he always wanted to see- He saw all of his brothers and sisters, smiling at him. Cheering him on, the told him, he was the best pencil out of all of them. He felt the warmth, and kindness. His heart was no longer filled with pain or lonliness, no longer did he feel he was worthless. No longer- did the little pencil had to suffer. Indeed- he could now rest. All his suffering, all his pain~ All the hurt and lonliness, was lifted from his spirit. The little pencil, who never knew worth, who never knew use and who never knew love. Was now without pain. His suffering ends, and he ends it with a smile, with Happiness and love in his heart.

                              The little pencil was not missed, his suffering was not known and his passing was at best quiet. No one cared- that one little pencil was lost. The little pencil, gained nothing from his suffering, he gained nothing from his existance, and nothing from his loss. The only thing, the little pencil could be proud of was, he gave it his all in the end, the stuck it out no matter how much he was hurt, No matter how high the cost of his being used, he still did it with a smile. He still laughed once his time was over. He was not always happy, but at his end, at his loss of use and without conviction. He was happy.

                  The little pencil was thrown away. no one knew of his suffering, and no one cared.

But he was happy.




AND THAT CHILD WENT ON THE BE THE PRESIDENT OF EARTH.........xDDDD