Pink

A Story by

A love story between two unlikely objects

She was perfect. The cutest I'd ever seen. I longed to tell her how I felt, but I couldn't really find the words to say anything. How could I have told her that her pink color was wonderful? The way that she wore her wrapper was amazing? She was always surrounded by her friends, anyway. All the blue and red and orange crayons were always chatting with her. At one point, Green had the nerve to ask her if she wanted to go see the animal-shaped erasers, and she declined with as much class as the entire school year I'd been answering questions on tests.

Of course, she didn't really know I knew about her. I doubt she even realized I existed. What's another used pencil in the supply cabinet, anyway? I prided myself in knowing that I didn't have any bite marks, and I wasn't as attention-seeking as those Batman or My Little Pony pencils. But when I really think about it, there was no way she would have known me from the rest of the yellow number-twos.

One day, we were all pulled out of the cabinet for Project Day. Being a normal pencil with normal, gray graphite, I was only chosen once or twice by the teacher to write names of the children on the back of their papers. I was content this way; it was a simple life of little work, but much fulfillment. I knew that every child would get the correct project because of me.

When we were all placed back in the cabinet with care, I realized something was wrong. Where was she? She wasn't back with the reds and oranges and blues. I looked around for her and finally found her by herself at the other end of the crayon bin, broken into two pieces. I heard the disapproving whispers of the colors she used to call her friends. She looked sad and alone, and though I denied it at the time, I swear I heard her crying.

Frantically, I sent up a prayer to the Great Eraser in the Sky that I could manage to find some way, any way, to make her feel better. As if the Eraser had heard me, I spotted a scrap of paper in the corner. Quickly, I sketched out a note, collected my courage, and went over to her with it. Dropping it in front of her, I hoped the feelings of a simple pencil would reach her through the simple words I'd scribbled.

"You're still perfectly beautiful to me."