I’m a pencil. I’m writing my autobiography. Let’s take a look at my life.

I was born in a big factory in the city. My name is Atlas. I’m smart and thin. I am basically made up of wood. After manufacturing, they packed me with different coloured papers. After my packing was done, I was transferred to a truck, and the driver took me to the stationery shop. In that shop, I met so many friends, like pens, rubbers, and erasers. The shop was very beautiful and was always crowded.

Amaan, my owner, finally bought me one day. I must have committed some sin in my life, which is why I got Amaan as my master. He was arrogant and harsh. He throws me against walls. He used to make me scream and listen to me cry. I’m always scared of sharpeners, but that child sharpens me like 100 times in a day. But hey, this is not the end of the world. People sharpen me to make me look sharp, so I can write clearly.

One day was lucky for me, as Amaan misplaced me somewhere. Then he forgets about me. The next day, Amaan’s friend placed me at the desk of the teacher. Now I’m happy and glad. The teacher took me and used me very carefully and decently. Finally, I was in good hands. I got rid of Amaan, who was one of the naughtiest kids I met in my life. The teacher took me home, and she has a happy family.

Every morning she used me with a cup of tea and checked her English papers. She only sharpened me when it was needed, and it made me young again. Now I’m in my last days of life. One or two trims, and I will be dead.

I lived a happy life after I got a nice teaching job. I fulfilled the sole purpose of my life, i.e., writing through my lens to help other people. I was full of hope for education. It always made me proud that God had created me into such a useful thing.