Long ago on a beautiful sheet of Paper, a Pencil drew olive trees, meadows, blooming flowers, gardens, and swings hanging from branches. Flowerpots and hand crafted pottery adorned little homes. Golden fields glistened with bright sunshine and warm smiles. The pencil drew, and drew, and drew.

One day, a distraught eraser arrived and asked if there was space on the paper, the joyful and loving pencil made way to co-exist with the eraser, unbeknownst to its intentions.

Slowly, the eraser started erasing the olive trees, the meadows and continued creeping up on the paper, where the pencil had originally made a heaven, erasing more and more of what the pencil had painstakingly crafted. The pencil felt upset and uneasy, but it wasn’t in its nature to retaliate, so it kept drawing again, and again, with positivity. Gradually, the eraser increased its speed and intensity and kept erasing, and erasing, and erasing.

The pencil continued its efforts to draw over, and over again.

The bits that were erased, lay scattered on the paper, they gathered with all their might, and stood up to the eraser.

The eraser got angry and asked for big erasers to come to its aid. The pencil was getting shorter, yet, it kept creating. The erasers came together and vigorously started erasing the drawings on the paper.

Debris and remnants scattered like mush and layers of dust.

The eraser was intense, so much, the paper started to tear apart, losing its shine, its fertility and beauty.

But, as the pencil grew smaller, it got sharper.

It lives on the hope, that one day, it can go back to drawing the olive trees, that no eraser can wipe out.

The eraser may obliterate the ink, but the impressions will remain. A pen is mightier than a sword, in this case, the eraser.