General

Tory flung a pencil over without so much as a backward glance, lime green and sharpened so much that there was barely enough left to grip. Even the blunt end bore signs of an abandoned attempt to sharpen the other end. I'd probably get about two sentences done before it broke again. It wasn't the pencil that bothered me though, it was Tory's huff, almost lost in the drone of the room, just audible to me. Her irritated posture and fixed forward gaze were the first concrete signs of what she'd been doing for several weeks - shifting allegiances to those who could help her the most and this time it was not in my favour.

General

It lay there on the dark canvas of my pencil pouch, its wooden sides were submerged in a sea of glitter. It was just a pencil but it shone like a light in the dark. It gave me a message and in that message, I found a glimmer of hope. It showed me how everything we do leaves a mark. But these marks left by our wrong actions can also be erased and rewritten. It was the pencil that showed me the way forward and I knew what I had to do next.

By katniss, March 4, 2016.
General

The pencil was cheap looking, garish on the outside with tiny christmas trees and the end eraser was missing from the bright green tin holder on the end. Its saving grace was that it was sharp, very. Sharp enough perhaps to have Terry's eye out. If only it could look like an accident. Tabby turned it over in her hands, considering, observing the end that had clearly been sharpened with a blade rather than a school sharpener. It occurred to her that the owner of the pencil might be interesting to get to know. Who sharpens gaper pencils with knife that sharp?