Sharpened No. 2

Ten inches long, yellow, a pink nub on one end, some sharpened, while some are not. Pencils are something we have taken for granted for too long. Something must change if we are to protect our race. The pencils are angry, and they are coming to get us and discard us.

I know this sounds crazy, but I am telling you the truth. I have… or had a witness. He was a pencil that came to me just a few days ago. His name was Bic.

He showed up at my apartment with a small tapping sound on my door, barely audible over the music I had been listening to, scratched down all the way to the lead. He could barely hop at all. I was scared, but I was able to stay calm enough to pick his frail form up. He was shaking and was in bad shape. I laid him down on the cheap napkins that I always took from the fast food restaurants I went to on my kitchen table. That was when I received another shock as he started to talk to me.

“Please, hurry, get some paper and something to write with.” He said with a small, diminutive, and weak voice.

“Umm…Ok?” I replied questioningly.

I recovered the pad of paper I had been writing on for my new story, “Time to Escape”. I grabbed my trusty Uni-ball ink pen and asked what to do.

“I am going to tell you something that no human is supposed to know.” Bic started.

“What?” I asked.

“The march of the pencils.” Bic said, choking out every word.

“The what?” I asked, barely able to hear his weakened voice.

“It is the attack that is to take place on the human race.” Bic replied shamefully.

“By whom?” I asked, thinking a terrorist nation of some kind.

“The pencils.” Bic replied.

“Ha-ha, right, that is pretty believable, of course I am talking to a pencil, so please continue.” I laughed, trying to make humor out of the whole situation.

“Here is how it started…” Bic started.

He told me about the S.P.S., Secret Pencil Society. It was started over thirty years ago by two discarded pencils who were rolled into the sewers in a race by two children. They decided that they had taken enough from humans. They decided to start a society where pencils could grow to be a super power. They would then start a war after assembling their army.

“A pencil army?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Yes,” Bic replied casually.

“An army…” I started.

“Yes.” Bic interrupted.

“…of pencils?” I finished.

“YES!” Bic yelled, exerting what little strength he had left.

“Ok, I’m sorry.” I apologized sincerely.

Bic continued his story and told what the S.P.S. did. Soon, the S.P.S. had recruited more pencils to join the army. Before long, they had over 10,000,000 pencils and the number was growing. Every pencil that had been discarded in any way was finding it’s way to them. Bic found his way there five years earlier. He had been a one time sharpened pencil who had been thrown behind the desk when his owner had bought a new box of black and blue pens.

Bic loved the society at first. He was with pencils just like him. There was classes he could take to become a better pencil and learn how to cope with the rejection that some of the pencils had gone through. Then he found out what the pencils overall goal was. They were going to launch an attack against the human race. He knew the time to leave had come because the “troops” had started preparing. He remembered all of the pencils lining up to be sharpened and some were being “armored”. The “armored” ones were put into the shells of the mechanical pencils. The mechanical pencils had been destroyed on order by the pencil elders, due to the fact that they were not “pure-pencils”, they were tainted. Only a few of the higher-ranking pencils were not being sharpened. The pencils that had been sharpened down too much or had been broken were thrown to the wood shredder. Bic didn’t like the idea of an all out war and he spoke out against it.

The elder pencils, or the “Unsharpened Ones,” didn’t appreciate his opinions and they decided that Bic was going to be an example to the other pencils that this was the way it had to be. They did not want any pencils speaking out against their war. They had decided that the humans had controlled the world long enough and the “Reign of the Pencil” would soon begin.

“That is why they skinned me.” Bic replied, choking back tears.

“Why not just break you?” I asked, curious about the S.P.S. now.

“That would have killed me. That is how you kill a pencil, they wanted me alive to use as their example.” Bic was crying now.

“Ok, why are you telling me this now?” I asked.

“Because you MUST get the word out!” Bic pleaded with me.

“Ok, I think I can do that. What can I do to help you right now?” I asked, wanting more than anything to help him.

“Please… break me… please…” Bic pleaded in pain and agony.

“O… Ok.” I said, choking back tears myself now.

I picked Bic up gently and with a quick movement, I ended his pain. Then I took him out back and dug a hole deep enough that no one would ever dig him up accidentally. I sat down that night and wrote down all of the strange events that happened to me that day.

I have since thrown away all the pencils I had. After I broke all of them, of course. I went to the office supplies store and bought all the pencils I could, then went home and broke all of them. I have pencil-protected my apartment. I have put fluffing in the crack below my doors. I have left little spring traps all over the floor that will wake me up if any small and thin objects are hopping along on the floor.

Now, good reader, I write this to you. You may think me crazy, but think of all the pencils that you have thrown away or lost over the years. They could be coming to get you. The pencils will be making their war soon. Are you going to be protected? Are you going to be ready?