The Plight of the Colouring Pencil

Once there was a colouring pencil. The colouring pencil had a nice life.

The colouring pencil liked to admire himself in mirrors and chuckle ‘Looking sharp,’ winking at his reflection as he did so.

One day he heard a terrible noise. The noise sounded like a flock of wild geese.

The noise came from what all colouring pencils fear most….children.

The colouring pencil tried to shimmy behind a stray salt cellar but it was too late.

Before he knew it, he was in the grasp of a disorderly toddler.

The colouring pencil could’ve overlooked being in the vice-like grip of a chubby, sticky hand.

But no.

The colouring pencil was duly plunged into orange squash, mushy peas and mash.

The colouring pencil was also dropped on the floor 42 times.

The colouring pencil felt a certain solidarity with the keeper of the toddler, who he noticed was clinging for dear life to the stem of a wine glass and looking pointedly at her husband who was enjoying a leisurely meal, entirely oblivious to the chaos around him.

As the colouring pencil lay on the floor, trodden into the mashy guts of an abandoned chip, he vowed there and then to run away and start a new life as an artist’s pencil.

Far away from toddlers.

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