Guthrie began to write his story.

“Wow!” said his pencil, “What a compelling start to a piece of writing!”

“Thanks,” said Guthrie.

“I really mean it!” continued the pencil “I’ve seen a lot of good writing in my day, and this is some of the best!”

“You’re sure friendly for an inanimate object,” said Guthrie

“Oh geez! You’re nice too! Nice and talented!” He smiled a pencil’s smile, which isn’t really a smile at all mainly because of their lack of mouth and face. “Well, you did half the work.” Said Guthrie.

“Mmmorgorf!” said the pencil. The side from which he emitted noise was lodged in Guthrie’s mouth.
“Sorry,” said Guthrie, apologetically. He continued to write, but pressed too hard on the paper causing the tip to snap.
“Holy Ticonderoga!” cried the pencil, still trying to maintain a positive attitude. “That was one humdinger of a period though. It was definitely worth a bit of pain. Bajoingas!”
His most recent Bajoingas was the result of him being jammed headfirst into a sharpener, where rotating metal blades shaved off bits of his head, until his tip was sharp again.
“Dixon Malixon!” said the pencil, sad to have lost those pieces of head. “That was some real nice sharpening though.” At this, he fell to the table unconscious.
Guthrie finished the story. It was okay.

Just as the bell rang, the pencil finally came to.

“We are such a good team!” he said, eyeing the finished story on Guthrie’s desk.

In his haste to leave class, Guthrie knocked the pencil to the floor, where he was snapped in two by the students stampeding feet.
“See you tomorrow!” he said, trying his best to smile without a mouth.