Flash In The Pan - 17. Takes the Biscuit

The pencil sharpener grumbled as it sat on the side table. “How long's He gonna stare out the window? We're here to be employed, not left lying around.”

Nearby, the eraser shrugged. Sharpener could be rather abrasive at times. They both knew who were the essential members of the team.

They watched the current pencil being fondled and caressed by their owner. Eraser hoped there wouldn't be any chewing; or sucking – that was gross. Not that he was bothered otherwise. Pencils came and went. Some were abandoned one day in; others worn down until they were a pathetic shadow of their former selves. It was best not to get involved.

Eraser flexed his upper torso; he knew the importance of remaining supple yet firm. “Sharpy? Remember that cute propelling pencil with the tan?”

Sharpener grinned, showing his dazzling serrated teeth. “Oh, yeah. All that cool, West Coast, hip attitude. Wouldn't be seen dead with us. His loss, not ours. Didn't last long.”

“Nah. A day, if that. Probably still in a drawer somewhere. Waste of a hundred quid, if you ask me.”

“How much?”

“Yeah. Umpteen pencils on call and He has to buy another. Think He broke all the leads on the first day.”

Sniggers passed back and forth. Cheap and cheerful they might be, nevertheless the two of them stuck around.

Their owner was hard at work; almost continuous sounds of pencil on paper drifted down to them.

Eraser relaxed. “We're lucky. Plenty of lives worse than…”

A hand swooped down and grabbed him.

“Hey! Let me go! That hurts. Owh!” The eraser was being moved so quickly, he could only see a blur. “You don't need to press so hard, you know. Aagh! … A light touch works for me.”

There was a pause followed by a snort of frustration from their owner. The hand let go of Eraser as abruptly as it had picked him up.

Back down on the table, Eraser flexed his whole body slowly. “Bloody hell, I'm sore!” He couldn't retain any dignity when he'd just been tossed away like a sweet wrapper. Sometimes He was considerate; not this time.

“You were saying?” Sharpener's smirk was irritating.

Eraser picked off the detritus. “God, it felt like a whole sheet. He went so fast, I couldn't tell. Sure I've lost weight.” He surveyed himself and adjusted that day's plastic sleeve. “What's He doing now?”

The sharpener stood on end. “Staring at the page you just cleaned for Him.”

Eraser rolled his eyes; they knew that look. “He's changed his mind and wants His words back.” Eraser didn't hide his frustration. “Again.” He rubbed at a spot which still hurt. “Why doesn't He think a story through before committing it to paper?”

Sharpener ground his teeth. “'cause that's too structured. 'Creative spontaneity'.” They heard that often enough. “What's it mean though?”

Eraser shrugged. Their owner was again scribbling furiously. They decided to keep a low profile; take some r&r while they could.

“Your turn next, Sharpy.”

“Why you sounding so cheerful?”

“You moaned about lack of use. Won't be long now. That pencil's too giving for his own good." Eraser noted the writing sounds had slowed.

“Hah! Better not be one of those souvenir losers He buys. Last time it took me ages to remove the plastic from between my teeth.”

“Well, that's just you being picky.”

The sharpener set his jaw. They both subsided into an uncomfortable silence.

There was no scribbling to be heard.

The quiet broke when He slapped the writing pad down on the table, catching Eraser with the spiral binding. The pencil was tossed alongside. Their owner strode on into the kitchen, slamming the door behind Him.

“Owh! Bloody hell.” Eraser glared at the sharpener. “Don't just sit there – I need assistance.”

Yet another smirk appeared on the sharpener's face. “You'll bend with it. You always do.”

He turned his attention to the newly-arrived pencil. “And what can I do for you, sweet cheeks? Some shaping? Perhaps a minor cosmetic procedure. I'm fully qualified.”

The pencil blushed. “It's all so new. I can't believe He chose me. I've found it quite overwhelming.”

With a scowl, the eraser watched it slide off the table onto the carpet to get some rest. He and the sharpener waited.

Gradually, delicious scents of baking escaped from the kitchen until at last, the door opened and He reappeared, bearing a plate of biscuits and a laptop.

He sat down. “Works every time I'm stuck: do something completely different and it sorts itself.” He tapped away at the keyboard, munching biscuits as He went.

The room got darker and still He continued. Eraser and Sharpener waited patiently in the gathering gloom. Finally, Eraser stretched out next to the notepad to get some sleep. They'd be needed tomorrow, and the day after.