Brave little toaster-Anne Russell

First, I have to say I am super hype that someone else knows and loves Marcel the shell, I am obsessed!

And now, a day in the life of a pencil.

All day I lie there on the table. Lifeless. Limp. Collecting dust. Until suddenly I am enclosed in warm, energetic fingers. My tip is pressed to fresh, blank, white paper. I can feel the ideas run through the entirety of my body, words that did not come from me but that I somehow know exactly how to write. I am zooming down the paper, capturing my master's thoughts and ideas in a flash before they have vanished completely. The moment is penetrated by an ear-splitting crack. Before I can pinpoint the cause, I can feel darkness closing all around me. I feel claustrophobic. What is happening?! A blade moves all around me and shaves off my upper layers. I come out hot, and slightly shorter. But now I am sharp and pointy, ready for the ideas to continue. But wait, why am I not heading towards the paper?? I find myself back down on the same table where I started, left alone to die. My master retrieves the paper full of ideas, (that I captured!), and encloses it in a folder labeled "English" which is then placed in a backpack. Used. Betrayed. Forgotten. These are the only words that come to mind once the homework assignment is finished. I should write my master a strongly worded letter. If only I could move on my own...