A hundred pieces of pencil, yellow in color. I grab one. I smoothly write on a paper. Write… write… write… as if inspiration are just flying by in my head… as if my hands long to write. Break. It breaks into two. I need one fast before all inspirations vanish. But when I look inside the drawer where all the hundred pencils were, I am astonished on how all the yellow ones disappeared in a very little moment. My heart begins to sink, no way now I can write a beautiful piece.

Then I see one, different from the other pencils. Instead of yellow, a red pencil comes to sight. I quickly grab the red pencil. Its surface is rough. I look for a sharpener for it has no lead. Hola! There’s one in the drawer. I sharpened its lead. Pencil shaving is all I can smell now.

I look again to the paper I am writing on and fear hugs my head… Oh my! I forget what I am writing. I re-read. No. There’s nothing coming to mind. This is what I fear, yes, I have a pencil and paper but I have nothing to write.

Fridays will be Object-writing Day. This is a way of writing practice for me. No editing, just free writing. πŸ™‚


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