'The scratching of the pencil against paper resonated all throughout the room. He scratched it out.  The scratching of graphite against wood pulp made sound waves that bounced around the classroom...'

"Argh!" The  teenager shouted. "Why can't  I ever write anything good!"

He shouted at the wall and began to shake. A piercing voice cut through the shouts, "Really Mister, I'm about to snap."

The teenager looked around the damp basement, trying to find the squeaky voice.

"I'm right here Mister, there's no need to look." 

The teenager looked down at his hand, at the pencil and his hand began to clench it tighter and tighter.

"No! Stop!" The pencil screamed.

His grip lessened on the pencil and he questioned, "Am I really that insane?"

"By the time you listen I'm gonna he stub, aren't I Mister?" The pencil whined.

"I'm here." The teenager sighed.

"You're coming with me." The pencil moved slightly. "We're going to a different world, New Pencil City."