The Pencil
Spine broken. Pages deliver a scrambled story. I have the power to pick up the fragments. Rewrite. Write what others have tried to mute. Seventeen centimeters of lead might not be much, but I’m her voice. I’m sharp. I’m ready, but she turns away from me and picks up her glass of whisky instead.
We’re both small. Lead or crystal? One can save her. One can break her. Who will she choose?
Neither. She adds another plate to her dish-pile. It looks like the Tower of Babel, minus the words.
She turns. She’s getting closer. Closer. Picks me up and—writes.
From Guest Contributor Isabelle B.L
Isabelle is a teacher and translator currently living in New Caledonia. She has published a novel inspired by the life of a New Caledonian politician. Her work can be found in the Birth Lifespan Vol. 1 anthology for Pure Slush Books and Flash Fiction Magazine. Her work is also forthcoming in Growing Up Lifespan Vol. 2 for Pure Slush Books and Drunk Monkeys.