Pencil

That afternoon, Peter lost his pencil again. It was the seventieth time he lost his pencil.
He noted this record with a pen, in his pocket book, by drawing a seventieth pencil with a line
crossing over it because his pencil was lost again. So, he came up with a brand new pencil he
bought at the stationary store near his house whom the owner had known Peter for a loyal
pencil buyer.
As soon as he sat down on his bed, he took out his sketch book and started sketching
with his brand new pencil as always. It was also his seventieth sketch in his book. This time,
he drew a person. Someone who had never came to his mind, but he insisted to draw it
anyway. An old lady he drew with details seemed so real. Peter was very talented in drawing
because he was so passionate about it.
He finished his picture and lay on the bed, doing nothing, realizing something but his
pencil that rolled down and hit the floor making a pluck sound. He was reaching out his
hand when suddenly another hand was gripping his. Nothing but someone must be lying
under his bed. In seconds, a creature crawled out and stood up, looking at Peter, and grinning
so widely. It was the old lady he had drawn! Peter was frozen and couldnt say a word. Thank
you for making me alive, she said while reaching her hands toward Peter. Who are you?
What makes you come alive anyway?, there were vibrates in Peters voice. He was trying so
hard to say those words. The pencil you used is a cursed pencil. You can give live to any
picture you draw with it. Now, I need to live forever and I need your live to replace my pure
less soul, she approached Peter and throttled him strongly with her wrinkled hands. It
happened in a glance. Peter had no chance to fight back. Aw, you are a cute and a nice boy,
said she scornfully. Peter was strained, panic stricken, and extremely fearful. His hands were
trying to reach anything to hit the lady but he can only reach his sketch book which is not
hard enough to be a hammer. Peter was trying with all of his left power until he couldnt even
move his hands and lost his consciousness. Blank. It was all dark.
Seventy seconds are away and suddenly there was a picture of his girlfriend asking him
to pick up the phone. Peter opened his eyes. Regain his consciousness and heard his phone
was ringing. He was on his bed, again. Alive. He got up and saw his floor that full of his torn
sketch book. Yes, it was the thing that saved him. At the same moment, he saw his pencil on
the ground. Peter creped, and that was the very first time he really wanted to lose his pencil.

[Warranty: this flash fiction is my original work]