Uprising of the Pencils

Tucked far away in the closet of your home sits a box of writing implements. Long forgotten there in the history of the home, the land in the box was called San Ford and was controlled by the Erasers. They were a minute minority in the grand schemes of beings in San Ford, but they controlled everything, lording over the inferior Pencils and rounding up the Markers as their military and guard. Late in the time of the Erasers’ rule came a particular tyrant named Ink Earl, and his large family. They were a despicable bunch of pink bodies, each with less and less redeeming qualities as one looked at them by age. Ink Earl was the oldest, the rest of his family, older brothers, aunts, and the like, having all mysteriously disappeared or perished in some horrible accident. His children, along with their cousins, were the only Earls who had not yet found themselves.

Though they were meant to be a respectable bunch, as they well brought up in the height of luxury with wealth and power, they were slovenly and lazy. The only moment any of the group expressed an interest in the world around them was when Ink would have his weekly Pencil gatherings. Ink Earl held a vigorous detestation for Pencils and thought them weak willed, weak-minded, and weak hearted. After all, they couldn’t even run a country for themselves as the majority. To Ink’s mind, they needed the Erasers to lead them, because they would all starve or go mad without his direction. Some Pencils, however, defied these beliefs and the laws of the Erasers. They were not truly intelligent though, Ink believed because if they were, they would know not to break the law. The Pencils who dared to challenge the Eraser authority were merely more idiotic than the rest of the Pencil population.

In response to these types of Pencils, Ink Earl incepted his weekly Pencil gathering. Those who were caught conspiring or breaking the law to any degree were brought forward to the grand chamber of the Earl household. There, Ink would question them about their actions, or ask them to give up the names of any friends and co-conspirators. After a long litany of questions, whether they gave him the information he wanted, or not, he would motion of his guards to dole out their punishment. It was always the same. Some Markers would step forward and restrain the poor pencil as Ink Earl and his family looked on and another Marker would wretch the small pink eraser from the bottom of the Pencil’s body, sometimes tearing away their low silver or green bands in the process. Ink Earl’s family would look on in glee, whispering ferociously to one another, trying to claim dibs on the tiny bit of eraser now laying on the floor.

This cruel punishment was not new, but as time went on, the Pencils in San Ford began to grow more and more uneasy. The quiet and always whispered undercurrent was that they could no longer tolerate the rule of Ink Earl, and something must be done. That is how Dixon and his friends’ discussions in an unused building just outside of town began in earnest. Though they had all grown up under the tyrant, they could no longer abide seeing eraser-less Pencils wandering the streets and begging for scraps. Watching the Markers stalk the streets at the command of the Erasers, as if they could one day be as powerful as the Erasers (who would never allow it), made them feel sick. Their meetings initially unfurled as a group of 12 young Pencils desperately complaining about a system they felt they couldn’t change, but as they spoke more and more they found in themselves a spark of change. None wished to simply sit back and allow Ink Earl to terrorize innocent Pencils.

While the Dixon and his friends began speaking of overthrowing the Erasers, nothing much concrete came of it, even after a great many meetings. After a particularly fruitless meeting, on the way to their homes, Dixon’s closest friend Faber confided in him his frustrations.

“We keep talking and talking, but we’re not getting anywhere,” he said, lowering his voice a little, to be sure no Markers were waiting and listening nearby to snatch them up.

“There are too few of us,” Dixon replied. He felt ambivalent about his and his friends endeavor of overthrow and fighting. He just as surely wanted to be rid of Ink Earl, but he privately feared for their safety. He didn’t want to see any of his friends fall or fail.

“Not if we would try to expand,” argued Faber. “If more Pencils felt passionate, or were aware of a fight to come, there might be nothing stopping us. There’s many more of us than there are Erasers and Markers combined.”

Dixon laughed. “I don’t think we could fit any more Pencils into our meeting room if we tried. Besides, the more Pencils who get involved, the more likely a Marker might hear about it. Then we’d all be doomed.” His face sobered up at that. They came to a stop, having reached Dixon’s home. They stood for a moment outside his gate.

“I know you don’t want us all to fail,” Faber said sadly, “but we can’t keep letting Ink Earl and his family get away with this. What they’re doing is wrong. They’re hoarders. They hurt innocent people.” Dixon nodded in response and assured his friend that he felt the same. They shared a hug and Faber left. Dixon protectively watched his friend continue down the street until he turned into his yard. Watching his friend disappear off the street, he let himself push past his own gate. Before it could close behind him he felt a hand push and keep it open and another hand touch on his back.

He jumped for a moment, filled with dread and thinking it could be a Marker who had heard him and Faber coming to take him away. He had made a small noise when he jumped which prompted the owner of the hands to shush him. He turned to see Prisma, another friend from the would-be revolutionary group.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said.

Dixon shrugged, brushing off the coil of fear. “It’s just a bit late, Prisma. I thought you’d be home.” The street lamps had come on, lighting up the row of small houses.

“I probably should be, but I thought you looked odd today when we talked about the idea fighting in the streets. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” She looked at him with concern.

“I’m fine, Prisma. I just worry about you and everyone else getting hurt.”

She sighed. “People are already getting hurt. Someday, if nothing changes, we’ll all end up injured. The longer we wait to do something, the more of us Ink Earl hurts. If you ask me, I’d rather die while fighting a Marker than let Ink Earl tear off my eraser.”

“Don’t say that,” he protested.

“Say what? The truth? Dixon, it’s time to stop being such a nice guy. Possibly, we’re going to have to fight for our lives. We can’t simply wish for a better place to live. We have to make San Ford decent for Pencils.” She looked him square in the eye.

He met her gaze, but only for a moment. He knew what she said was true, but he couldn’t bear possibly losing friends and losing the war too. If he was going to fight, he had to know that they would not fail. “You should probably go home now,” he said, breaking their eye contact. There was a curfew they were breaking by being on the street. She agreed and quickly turned and left. He wanted to apologize for something, but he wasn’t sure what.

He watched her walk all the way down the street and around the corner, out of sight. In his heart, he knew she was right. He could see all the Pencils who were routinely abused by the Erasers and Markers. Perhaps he was reluctant because he did not have family who had been through it. Both Faber and Prisma had family members who had disappeared or been hurt by the Earl family. For them, it was a personal, visceral hurt, but for him, it was still an abstract concept. Dixon didn’t know what it felt like to see his loved ones violated, but he feared it greatly. He tried to shake the cold feeling creeping into his wood. Was it simply cold out, or was he growing scared? He didn’t think about the answer, but instead closed his gate behind him and locked it.

Dixon lived alone and set himself to bed after eating something small. He had begun to feel a little queasy after his conversations with Faber and Prisma, and he hoped that sleep would cure it. He climbed into bed, but he found no true solace in his slumber. He dreamt vividly about fighting. He and his friends fought in his street, desperately outnumbered by Markers while other Pencils hid in their homes, too afraid to join. Suddenly from behind the Markers emerged a creature Dixon had never seen before. It was taller than a Pencil and as it came forward the Markers suddenly revealed themselves to be Erasers. They attacked the being, whose body was soft, feathery. The Erasers could do the being no harm, and they began to fade away. Then the street began to slide away, and the same happened to Dixon’s friends until it was simply the golden Quill and Dixon himself, standing in a white expanse.

“What’s going on? Who are you!” Dixon yelled, frightened in one half of his mind, but serene in the other. Though he could see that the Quill was very old and did not wish him harm, it stood engulfed in an awesome power.

“Names do not matter. What matters is that what you have seen in this dream until now will not come true, but what I tell you from here on out, will. Your friends will succeed in their endeavor. They will fight the Markers and Erasers who stand in the way of Pencil freedom, and they will win, with you leading them to victory.”

“How do you know that?” Dixon asked, disbelieving.

“I am older than you can imagine and know all that has happened and will happen in San Ford. The era of Erasers is coming to a close and you will help seal it. History will remember you and your friends for what you do—”

“But how—,” Dixon tried interrupting.

“Listen carefully to me, now.” The Quill said, “There is a sacrifice you will make to win your war. There is a tool that will help you win against the erasers, but it is a dangerous weapon. Every time you use it, it will shorten your lifespan. Use it too often, or waste its power on anything but fighting could mean you don’t see the triumphant end with your friends. You will find it further out of your town then you’ve ever been. There is a graveyard of old beings. You will not recognize many, they are obsolete or unused. You will know the tool, the Sharpener, when you find it. It will sharpen the tip of your head, and allow you to fight the Erasers better than anyone before you. Now go. Awake.”

The Quill disappeared in a flash of light as Dixon opened his eyes to the light coming in through his window. He could almost feel a feather brushing across his face as he looked around his nearly empty room. He prepared himself for the day, but couldn’t shake the dream from his mind. He wasn’t entirely sure it was a dream. Most dreams he had faded after a few minutes of being awake and trying to remember them was like trying to read something that has been half erased. But this dream he could recall in clear detail. The creature, the Quill, whose name he knew instantly upon thinking about her, had been bold and beautiful. Her stem was golden, like a brilliant sunrise, and her hair was a long feather, green, but with golden-red tones. She had spoken to him through the single eye at the end of her feather, a bright blue iris enclosed around a royal purple pupil.

Forgetting about his breakfast or washing up for the day, he left his home earlier than usual. He had to see if the graveyard the vision had spoken of was real. If he found nothing, then maybe the creature would disappear from his mind. Her words haunted him as he walked deep out of town, past the old meeting building. The idea that he might not see the end of the fight didn’t bother him as much as it might others. The Quill had said that his friends would be safe, and that was the only reassurance he needed to fight. As he walked, the town disappeared from sight, a mirage blur in the cardboard ground that stretched behind him. And suddenly there the graveyard was. A large metal object jutted out of the ground before him. It was made of two arms, with a circle holding them together at an acute angle. Other objects littered the ground. But there, just a bit further along, under the angle of another metal object that the Quill’s tool lay.

Dixon knew it on sight. It was a smallish silver metal box he could carry in his hands. A cylindrical hole was dug out of both sides, one slightly bigger than the other. He lifted it up and, entranced by it for a moment, began using it on his tip of his head. It scrapped off a small bit of graphite, stinging just a bit. He stopped abruptly, remembering what the Quill had said about its danger. Not wanting to share it with his friends just yet he set it back down, dragging a small pad of paper over it to hide it from anyone else who may see.

Not knowing how long it had taken him to reach the graveyard he walked quickly back to the meeting building, not wanting to be late. He realized he was anyway as he opened the door and saw surprised faces looking at him. They all relaxed seeing that it was just Dixon, but Prisma gave him a questioning look. He was going to ask her what the matter was, but Faber spoke up first and began the meeting once more. Prisma had noticed the changed state of Dixon’s head. She wondered what he had done, but didn’t want to bother him. He was breathing heavy like he’d just been on a hike.

After a few hours of useless arguing and back and forth conversations, the meeting was over, again with no concrete plans made. Dixon had remained even quieter than usual that day as he mulled over the Sharpener in his mind. He walked home with Faber that evening, thinking about how to tell his friends in a way they might believe. He thought they might call him crazy if he tried to tell them.

“You’re quiet today,” Faber said, looking at Dixon intently, “What’s up?”

“Nothing. I had a strange dream last night, is all,” Dixon told him.

“I guess we all have days like those,” Faber said. “What was it about?” They reached Dixon’s gate and stopped. Dixon leaned on it and thought about what to say before speaking.

“I had a dream that this ancient being said we would win in a war against the Erasers,” Dixon said.

“Well now, your subconscious is gaining more confidence. Good. Maybe you’ll start believing it too. Anyway, have a good night. Get some better sleep tonight and come back tomorrow with some real ideas. We can’t win if we’re not all in,” Faber said. And with that, he turned and continued down the street.

Now that he hadn’t had a chance to tell Faber, he wanted badly to tell someone, and his chance came sneaking up behind him. Prism tapped him on the back just like the night before, but Dixon was relieved instead of frightened. He spoke before she could greet him.

“Listen, I have something to tell you.”

He pulled her into the yard side of his gate and told her in detail about the dream he had had that morning and the Sharpener. She told him that she had seen the difference in him earlier and believed every word.

“Should I tell everyone else?” He asked.

“Of course you should,” she said urgently. “If they know, and if they see the Sharpener, they’ll have to believe you. We can currently start planning to fight because we’ll know we can win. We’re going to actually do something about Ink Earl.”

Dixon felt a rush of excitement run through him. He promised Prisma that he would tell everyone the following morning and wished her a good night. He sent himself to bed and a dreamless sleep.

In the morning he hurried to the meeting and asked Faber to speak first. When everyone was accounted for, he stepped up and told them the same story he had told Prisma. She watched him speak, looking excited and proud, but the rest looked skeptical. Faber spoke first when he finished.

“Dixon, you said it was just a dream last night. What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t get to finish before you left. I told Prisma last night, and she believes me. If you don’t, then come with me to the graveyard. I can show you the Sharpener myself,” Dixon said, looking urgently at his friends. They all reluctantly agreed to go with him. They filed out of the building, some grumbling about the silliness of following a pencil into the middle of nowhere because of a vivid dream, but they all went with. When they approached the graveyard even the most resistant began to believe and when Dixon uncovered the Sharpener and used it just the smallest amount once more, they were convinced. Dixon carried the weapon back with him this time as they trekked back to the meeting place. Faber dismissed the rest of the group, whispering to them to come to the building earlier than usual the next day. Prisma and Dixon talked alone while he did this, not hearing. They themselves were planning on returning to the graveyard.

The following morning Prisma and Dixon left early in the morning to the graveyard. They searched the grounds for any other tools that might prove useful in the fight against Markers and Erasers. Prisma happened upon a large ditch full of plastic hollow cylinders which perfectly gripped the Pencil body. They collected as many as they could as armor for themselves and their friends. As they carried their load back to their friends, their friends met without them.

“Now that we know we can win against the Erasers, it’s time to get serious. If Dixon can kill Ink Earl himself with that Sharpener, then we just need to make sure he can get there in front of him. We need to be able to get inside his home, into his grand chamber, and let Dixon do his job.” Faber spoke from on top a table to the rest of his friends, 9 in attendance. “And we can’t do this alone. The 12 of us might be able to take down Ink Earl and his family with Dixon’s weapon, but the Erasers and Markers won’t suddenly back down. They’ll do whatever they can to keep the power in their hands. We can let Dixon believe it will be just us fighting, but we need more people ready to take up arms. It’s time to start telling your family and neighbors to be ready. When the fighting starts, they’ve got to come and join us.” The others in attendance nodded their heads. “If we keep it secret enough, the Markers and Erasers won’t ever know until we plan to attack, and Dixon doesn’t need to know we have an army to take them all on.”

The Pencils in attendance agreed to begin recruiting in secret. Faber didn’t like keeping his plans from Dixon or Prisma, but he knew Dixon would not approve and though Prisma would, she would assuredly tell Dixon if she found out. As the days drew on more pencils secretly began readying to fight throughout the town and the friends readied themselves with their armor.

The day before they planned to attack they met in their building like usual to make final preparations. Just as Faber was about to bring the meeting to order there was a loud crash outside. They all hushed and turned to look at the main entrance where suddenly the doors swung open as Markers came running in. There were only six of them and the Pencils jumped up, grabbing their armor. Dixon quickly lifted the Sharpener up and used it on his point. The graphite and wood easily gave way, like a knife cutting cheese. It hurt to twist it around, and he felt himself grow smaller, but he knew from the dropping graphite shavings around him that he was growing sharp as well.

“We know what you’re doing here. Don’t move. Stop what you’re doing, and no one has to get hurt. Surrender,” said the lead Marker.

They stood in a line in front of the only door out. The other pencils slowed their movement and looked around at one another, gauging their options. Dixon, sitting closest to the lead Marker, who hadn’t seen him working his Sharpener, waited for a moment before springing up from his place. He charged at the Marker. The Marker almost got a laugh out, thinking this was silly, before he noticed just how sharp Dixon’s head was. And Dixon’s head was going straight for his chest. The Marker had no time to move as Dixon slammed into him, piercing his plastic. The Marker fell, purple colored ink bleeding out of the puncture hole. The other Markers looked frightened and began to retreat a little. The other Pencils cheered and closed in on the remaining outnumbered Markers.

They began to fight the Markers with what little weapons they had, bits of metal or wood they had gathered in the old building or in the graveyard. The Markers quickly gave up fighting back and started to run back to town, chased by the hoard of Pencils, Dixon in the lead with purple ink still streaked down his face. As they reached town other pencils started to jeer and throw things at the Markers in retreat. Other Marker guards tried to join and help those who had failed to stop the friends, but even as their Marker numbers grew, so did the number of Pencils. As Pencils sitting in their homes or out on the street saw the fighting they realized that the fight they had expected tomorrow had started early. Each one knew how important it was to join in, lest the Pencils who were already fighting lose. As the Pencil numbers grew the bands of Markers retreated faster until it seemed they had all abandoned their posts. All the Pencils stood on a random street in the middle of town, unchallenged as the last Marker guard dropped his weapon and ran.

Faber looked to his friends and those who had joined and spoke. “I know our plan was not to fight today. We don’t know how the Markers found out about our meeting place, they have, and we must know that there’s no going back. We can’t wait until tomorrow, even if we might like to. More Markers will come if we don’t keep moving.”

Other Pencils nodded in until Prisma yelled in agreement and other began to shout as well. They were marching on Ink Earl’s home that night. They moved forward as a group and other Pencils joined the large crowd as they traveled through the streets, fighting the few bands of markers they came across. Dixon had used the Sharpener a few more times in the fighting, wanting to be sure he was sharp enough to make a difference. When they reached the gates of Ink Earls home there were a plethora of Markers in front of and behind the gate. They fought the guards outside who either fell in their duty or turned and climbed the gates to get away from the mob of Pencils. Dixon’s face was covered in a rainbow of streaky ink stains but then. When the Pencils had surrounded the home and there were no Markers in sight, aside from those hiding inside the gates, they all stopped and rested. The sun was nearly setting by then, so they began to carefully set up camp, keeping an eye on the Markers and gate. The Markers themselves were waiting until early morning to begin fighting again. They had lost many more Markers than they thought they ever could, and they needed to recoup their losses somehow. They settled into counting their numbers and weapons still left.

Prisma and Dixon sat together and stared at the sun while it set. The sun set was simply the light passing over the closing of the box, making the color a long thin line in the cardboard sky. It was pretty though, with a myriad of colors streaking through. Prisma was worried about how small Dixon had gotten throughout the day. She wondered how minuscule he would get in the rest of the fight, imaging in fear that possibly all that would be left of him would be his eraser.

She shook the fear out of her mind as Faber approached them. “Prisma. Dixon. We’re going to sneak inside the gates and find Ink Earl, so we can finish this once and for all,” he said. The two of them nodded. Dixon knew this was the best idea to try to minimize the amount of fighting the other Pencils would have to do, but he also felt a sudden small shock of anxiety. It would be his job to kill Ink Earl. They had decided on this, days ago. With his Sharpener he could, and nothing could change if Ink Earl was still alive.

They dressed in dark colors and once the sun went down and it seemed as if everyone, but the lookouts were sleeping they snuck over the gate near the back. All twelve of the friends easily knocked out the few guards who were in the area and made their way into the house. It was large and ornate on the inside, unlike anything any Pencil had seen. There were no guards to be seen inside, and they made their way to where they thought Ink Earl might be… in his grand chamber.

They opened the door to the room, revealing a few soldiers napping in chairs and a few more standing at a table with Ink Earl himself. They looked up from their plans on the table, surprised, but reacting too late. The twelve of the Pencils closed the doors behind them. Some charged forward to attack the sleeping Markers while the rest began trying to block the door so no one else could get inside. The Markers with Ink Earl ran to the aid of the sleeping Markers and Dixon slipped off to the side, out of sight. He knew his friends could handle the few Markers who were here. It was time for Dixon to do his job. He had known he would have to kill Ink Earl himself since he had dreamt about the Quill, but it had felt like a far-off idea until just then as he approached Ink Earl from the side, unnoticed.

Outside the guards were alerted to a problem by banging and yelling. Some Markers outside ran inside to see, waking up the Pencils outside the gate as well. Confused and assuming that fighting had begun again the Pencils everywhere picked up their arms and began to break down the gate to get inside. They pushed and pushed to try to break the gates, and some simply gave up and climbed their way over the walls. When they busted the gate down they spilled into the courtyard, outnumbering the Markers still outside. They fought bravely and easily, knowing their numbers would prevail.

Inside the chamber Dixon crouched in hiding for a moment, using his Sharpener one last time, making sure that his point was as sharp as possible. He didn’t want to make a mistake now, at the end of his mission. It hurt to twist the Sharpener around, but he gritted his teeth to get the job done. When he finished he stood and took a breather. Ink Earl had not noticed him, but he stood unprotected. The Markers were overwhelmed and too busy fighting the Pencils to take notice of the one small Pencil who took closest to their leader. Dixon ran. He sprung from his hiding place and sped toward Ink Earl. Ink barely registered the Pencil coming towards him until too late. He turned and found himself impaled by Dixon’s graphite point. A large cavern appeared in his abdomen, and then another as he looked at Dixon in horror. Over and over Dixon pierced the Eraser, making a thick line of holes in his body. With one last thrust Dixon tore Ink Earl in two, sending his top flying through the air. The Markers noticed the body of their leader go soaring. Some dropped their weapon in surrender and others kept fighting, not willing to give up.

That was the end of the Erasers ruling San Ford. As the Pencils got the Markers to surrender, the others in Ink Earl’s family did as well. Some chose to fight to the death anyway, too proud to give up in the face of defeat, but others spent the rest of their days in prison for their crimes. The Pencils gained a newfound confidence. The ones who had fought for freedom became a new guard, but not one that only protected those in charge. Dixon and his friends helped set up a new government without the Eraser hierarchy and the home of Ink Earl became a public meeting building, so they wouldn’t have to meet out of town any longer.

Although Dixon was very small by the time the fighting was over, and many were stained with the ink of Markers, he and his friends were always remembered for their bravery. Little Pencils in school would learn about the courageous actions of the twelve friends who lead the fight for freedom for all Pencils.

Afterword

As a Self Published Author, every review counts in order to further more eyes on this book and theme. If you liked the book, please be sure to leave a review at Amazon.com and be sure to support me on my website: https://nicopegin.com/

And don’t forget we are the human race. Together. All of us, you too reading this right now. We can prevail but only united.

Thank you,

Nico Pengin.