Pencil And Hands

Through all of my accomplishments and down falls now I lay here in the gutter looked upon as a worthless piece of trash. If they only knew all the things I have done maybe then they would appreciate me. Oh! Finally an ear ready to listen to my tale. I never thought this would happen, I don''t even know where to start. Well I guess the best place to start would be the beginning. I was born or more correctly made in a pencil making factory for the sole purpose of making a directed mark on paper.

The hands and machines that constructed me never gave a second thought on whose paper''s I would mark. Once I was completed I as shipped out to a nearby stationary store where I was placed in a package with eleven other pencils. Who were quite immature and rambunctious which made me quite eager to find a new owner. One day my dream became a reality and I felt our box being lifted from its peg and into the eager plump hands of a child. The child purchased me and went on his way back home.

Once his toes stepped onto his familiar carpet he ripped our box open and examined us with Judgmental eyes. His eyes fell upon me and saw my defect with disappointment drawn onto his face. I was not bent but not straight either, I was a defect and I could tell he didn''t ant to waste his time with me. I felt his chubby hands wrap around me as we headed for the trash can. Then he abruptly stopped at the sound of his older brother''s voice. I could not make out what they said but after their conversation I switched hands and found myself on the older brother''s desk.

He toyed with me in his hands and I saw a twinkle in his eye a brilliant idea that was deep in his soul surfacing to make itself known. He grabbed the nearest lined paper and quickly sharpened me to a point and began writing. Boy this kid wore me out, he had to sharpen me several times before he inally completed his text. He set me down back on his desk and went to bed. Later I would find out that my defect inspired him to write a story, a story that would change the world.

A few weeks later many people wanted to speak with him about this brilliant story and they would ask him what inspired him. All he would do was hold me up high so everyone could see and it sure helped with my confidence. Through listening of people talking with him I learned his name. His name was Robert Burgdorf. Now when Robert first held me in his hands he was quite mature already but still his work revolutionized America. He had drafted the first version of the American with Disabilities Act of 1990 using my lead and my eraser.

Now, you are probably wondering how got in the predicament I am in now. Well as Robert became busy with politics I was forgotten and eventually I found myself in the hands of Robert''s younger brother again. Through conversations I learned that his name was George and he was the opposite of Robert in every way. While Robert was trying to avoid trouble everywhere he could, George Just loved making trouble. George had a gambling problem and became low on funds and he knew with my past I could fetch him a pretty penny. He sold me toa museum and once again I museum so I could be put on display.

She harshly pulled her skin back to produce a smile when she was initially at the door. The minute she turned, her smile fell flat and she began to cry. As we got into the car she began talking to herself about her problems with her husband and her very ill son. She got so engorged in her depression that she barely watched the road. And before you knew it we were spinning on a thin black sheet of glass on the open road. I kept on rolling until I hit the gutter where I would stay until my next set of hands cradled me. But what are the odds of that happening?