There was a pencil on the bookshelf.
The heaviest tome was closed, closest of them all.
“You’re weird,” he said quietly, his voice just above a whisper. “You don’t belong.
The pencil opened his eyes. He scratched his head. His rubber hurt.
“Aren’t we all a little weird?” he said and tried again to sleep. “I think it’s all just how good we get at pretending we are not.”
“YOU don’t belong!”
This voice was higher-pitched and for a moment the pencil was alarmed. When he looked again, all the books had shuffled closer.
“Aren’t we made of trees?” he asked.
The books crept closer still.
“Aren’t we made of wood?”
“I am!” a tiny book cried out.
“Well so am I,” the pencil said. “I write the words upon your pages, I bring your wood to life…”
“YOU ARE DIFFERENT!” It was a roar that drowned the others out.
The pencil felt a thud against his back. He felt the bookshelf fall away. The last thing that he saw, was a hardback leaning out, a crown upon his pages. Laws and Rules, its golden title said.
Of course, he whispered as he fell, I must be the only thing that breaks.
Juliet Thorne is an aspiring writer from the South-East of England. She loves writing middle-grade for children, poetry and flash fiction.
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