Once upon a box of pencils, there was one pencil named Harold, who was the sharpest pencil in the box. That pencil was me. Everyone was jealous that I was sharper so they made fun of me because they were jealous. So, when it was dark I broke open the box and left his box. I wandered around the factory in awe.

I felt lonely and lost, and I felt bad because I left his box. Now that box will be trashed because there will be one pencil gone. I tried to hurry back but, they have already been thrown out. I felt bad but I also didn’t because because they bullied me my whole life.

I didn’t know what to do, I was lost and scared. I decided to throw myself out. There is no point of being a pencil if I can’t be used to draw something. As I entered the side of the trash can I had to figure out how to get up there. I found a ladder directly pointed toward the trash can. I climbed up to the top, slowly but surely I made it, and I jumped. I woke up in a box, then I noticed I’m a pencil I can’t get out. THE END