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Written History

It’s a dreary Monday morning, rain falling from the dark thunderclouds. People crowding the hallway once the bell rings, afraid of getting wet. As I push and shove my way through to my next destination, I notice something in the corner of my eye. A wooden pencil. Your bright yellow color contrasts the dark brown floor of the hallway, ready for you to be taken. I wonder what your story is? Did you fall out of your owner's bag by accident? Did your owner feel like you were not needed any more so you were just thrown away like garbage? What did you accomplish? What did you fail? Your past stories will never be told. But you can help me write a beautiful future.

Written History

It’s a dreary Monday morning, rain falling from the dark thunderclouds. People crowding the hallway once the bell rings, afraid of...