W.I.D., part 24: A Purple Hoodie

Well, I actually did forget to post…. 😛 Oh well….. Enjoy!

Whatever I Draw

by Eliza May

In an instant, Kirk leaped to his feet and grabbed a small arsenal of weapons from the truck, while Thompson and Julia groggily stood. Dimly, Kirk could see the attackers as black shapes. There were many. It appeared as if the entirety of the Pen community, after having had their stronghold invaded, had rallied, and been reinforced as well.

Quickly, Kirk assessed the situation, and then grimly shook his head. Then he dashed to one of the parked motorcycles and climbed on. With a cloud of dust, he shot off through the camp, dodging several shadowy Pens, until he was alone in the slowly lightening Wastelands. Once he was sure he was not being followed, he stopped for a moment, and did some brief calculations. Then he slightly altered his direction and sped off again, scanning the dim landscape as he went.

Finally, he saw what he was looking for, and relief flooded over him. A lone figure was walking steadily through the Wastelands. As the motorcycle neared, the person–none other than Tullier–turned quickly and assumed a defensive position.

Kirk slowed and called out, “It’s me, Tullier!”

Warily, Tullier relaxed and Kirk drew alongside the boy. “Tullier, the Pens have ambushed the Pencil camp! There’s far too many of them to hold off. You’ve got to–” He broke off. “Is that a new hoodie?”

Tullier couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, it is.”


“I didn’t have paper, so on my hoodie, I drew a stack of paper, which promptly became a real stack of paper. Then, on one of the sheets, I drew myself another hoodie. And apparently it’s purple. You were saying? About the Pens?”

“Oh! Yes, sorry. Where was I? Oh, yes. You’ve got to help, or everyone in the camp will be slaughtered!”

Tullier’s expression grew cold. “They have their own pencils. Let them defend themselves.”

Kirk shook his head. “No, Tullier. Not everyone in Pencil society has a pencil, and those that do spend quite a while trying to get their pictures right.” He hesitated, then added, “Tullier, your pencil is one of a kind.”

Tullier raised his eyebrows.

“There are other pencils, to be sure, but yours is by far the best. One of the reasons Thompson and Julia didn’t want you to draw a burger, besides the fact that you’d discover the pencil they gave you wasn’t real, was that the vast majority of pencils–and pens, too, for that matter–are nowhere near as accurate as yours is. You can draw something that looks even vaguely like a–a hoodie, and a hoodie will be drawn. For the others, what is drawn must look exactly like a hoodie, and even the slightest imperfection could prove to be disastrous. What’s more, only the owner of your pencil can use it. When your father gave it to you, it became yours. That’s why the Pencils want you. You almost have a mental connection with what you draw, so that the pencil knows exactly what you want. Together, you and the pencil are invaluable.”

Tullier listened with mixed interest and anger. “I won’t let them use me! That’s all they wanted, anyway! To use me and my abilities!”

Kirk closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remain patient, and then opened them again. “Tullier. Whether or not that is true–which I must say, I believe it is–there are lives at stake right now. You. Must. Help.”

Tullier was silent for a long moment.

“You get to ride the motorcycle with me,” Kirk prompted.

Unable to hold back a grin, Tullier conceded, and the two climbed on the motorcycle. Then they sped away, back towards the camp.


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