Erasing the Past

Imran turned his pencil around, only to find it unready.

Or rather, not unready. Unusable. Too used. Used up. The little pink nub was no longer a nub, and no longer pink. It was black, and flush with the metal holder; any attempts to use it would result in torn paper, and nothing more.

Imran looked around for a viable alternative. There was nothing particularly promising; a potential in the gum under his chair, and he even considered wetting his finger and using that. But no, he knew what he had to do.

Reaching over beside himself, Imran lifted his backpack, opened the smallest compartment, and pulled out the big, pink block. He rubbed it on the paper, his graphite disappearing. He smiled, set the chunk of rubber in the corner of his table, and continued to write.

Why, he thought to himself, do the pencils never last long enough? Someone should design something better.

With that though, he started doodling a better pencil design; something that would hold up properly. His previous work was now forgotten.

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