This is May. She loves using pencils to draw portraits of her friends. Today she bought a new set of pencils, not knowing that they could talk to each other.
While drawing, she would sometimes turn her head around and smile at the pencils. Most of the pencils loved the girl, except an orange guy who called himself Boo. As the days and week went by, Boo became increasingly scared watching his friends, one by one, grow shorter and shorter in May’s hand and finally disappeared altogether. “That girl is a heinous killer. Those pretty fingers the claw of death.” Boo thought.
One day, there were only two pencils left. Boo gasped. “You can’t just stand there, man.” “Why not?” His friend laughed. “Isn’t it what we are made for?”
“Maybe,” muttered Boo. His eyes darted from the walls to the empty desk. “But none of the folks ever came back. Ever. I don’t want to end up like them.”
“Everyone dies, Boo. We are destined for destruction and death, but we are also capable of beauty and wonders. And the only way to truly live our lives is to die in May’s hands, over and over again.” He continued. “By scraping us against hard paper, she transforms us into the long-lasting human spirit in her portraits. Well, as long as the paper lasts. Hah!” Boo looked away, trying to not understand.
The moment finally came. As May reached for the last pencil, a blood-curdling scream almost tore the room apart. “No. You are not doing this to me!” May was taken aback but soon found herself smiling curiously at the pencil. “You can talk!” Boo tried to maintain the bravest face he could. “Yes. And I demand that you leave me alone. You killer. I hate you.” “What if I don’t?” May puts her tongue out of her mouth teasingly. Telephone rang. May turned to the door, saying as she walks out: “Don’t be silly. I’ll get you tomorrow.”
That night a burglar sneaked into the house and put many valuables into his large black bag. Boo considered screaming but he found himself staring silently at the guy in black. Everyone had been out anyway. Only Boo and the busy burglar now. Boo kept watching as the guy put May’s laptop into his bag. An idea crossed his mind. “This is my only chance to escape. For better or for worse. May be dumb and selfish. But do I really have a choice?” Boo jumped into the bag.
The burglar managed to bring what he had stolen to a secret warehouse, feeling content with his spoils that night. As he unpacked the bag, he realized there was an orange pencil. He did not remember taking such a thing. “Good. Let’s write a list of what I’ve got.” As soon as he was about to write, the pencil jumped out of his hand, rolling on the floor. He picked it. It jumped again. Angry, he tried to catch the ridiculous pencil, breaking it into two pieces, forcefully throwing them out of the window. He cursed out loud. Boo landed onto a filthy garbage corner. Distressed. Angry. In pain. He began to cry.
A boy was walking towards the corner to throw his garbage bag. He stood still and then began searching around as he heard the cry in the darkness. He picked up the broken pencil and stared at it in disbelief. “Hey. Wow. Are you crying poor pencil?” Boo answered in tears. “Yea. It’s me. But.. who are you?” “My name is Sam. How can I help?” “Please help me get home. I don’t want to die here.” The boy pulled out a piece of paper. “Okay. I’ll make a note of your owner’s address first. Tell me now, buddy.” “But I hate paper.” said Boo. “Oh, Well, I see. But you can’t avoid it forever. Come on. I’ll help you if you help yourself.” The pencil agreed, closed his eyes, and read the address as Boo wrote enthusiastically. It felt strange but not as terrible as Boo had imagined. With each letter written, Boo felt the pain and became shorter but somehow, he knew that all will be okay.
The next morning Sam arrived at May’s house early. Although May’s family was devastated by what had happened the previous night, May was happy to receive the pencil back. They promptly decided to report the incident to the police. With Boo’s help, May and Sam were confident that the burglar would be captured soon.
When they were alone together in the room again, May watched Boo in silence. She had already bought some new pencils. Suddenly Boo said: “Let’s draw together!” May was amazed. “Are you sure? I am still that cold-blooded murderer. I have not changed at all. Haha” Boo looked at her, feeling guilty and grateful at the same time. “But I have.” A moment of silence. They smiled at each other. Boo suggested: “Let’s draw Sam this time. How about that?” May’s face brightened like the summer sky. “Let’s do it!
May gave Sam the pencil portrait as a gift. He was very happy.
Boo did become shorter. Part of him disappeared. But he felt a sense of deep contentment and peace for the first time in his life. He realized that happiness does not come from remaining whole forever; rather, it comes from the process of fulfilling his promise as a pencil, no matter how many times he was shattered to the core.