I picked up the pencil, and deep in thought stood for a moment, holding it at either end, absently flexing the wood. It bent, and then snapped in two. The sound of splintering, cracking wood was satisfying in its finality.
It was broken and could never be repaired.
2 comments:
OMG INA, DIE BITCH =.="
holy f-ing shit . your drawing are f-ng coll !
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