This story will involve a pencil eraser on top of a desk. Hence the title, I suppose. I haven't really decided what the story will be about yet, but that hardly matters seeing as it won't be interesting no matter what. No-one can feel moved by the actions of gum rubber. I learned that lesson the hard way.
Most people will imagine that I got the idea for this story in a classroom, when I was bored or something, and I happened to be staring at a pencil eraser on a desk, and in my bored state had cast an idle wish that it be more entertaining. This is not the case, so everyone who thought that is wrong, and should be big enough to admit it. If you're reading this right now, and you thought I was probably just basing this story on something I'd seen, have the courage to say, whether out loud or simply to yourself, "I was wrong".
I doubt anyone believes in that classroom story anymore. That simple little disclaimer was very convincing, somehow. It was a very eloquent arguement, considering the fact that I did not back up my point in any way. I had no proof at all, I simply denied it. I denied it very admantly, mind you, but that still did not constitute a very solid arguement. It was just an opinion. A very formal, authoratative-sounding opinion. And yet, I bet each and every reader of this story believed beyond a shred of doubt that this story was not inspired by a classroom setting. Confess. You were swaded with ease, manipulated effortlessly in exactly the fashion I had intended.
Were I now to go back on my earlier statement and say that this story WAS, in fact, inspired by classroom-based boredom, I'd probably STILL be able to drag a few of the more innocent readers into believing me, but I won't bother. The simple fact is that I was telling the truth: this story was not made up in or inspired by a classroom setting. You'll just have to trust me on that one. My case would not stand up in court, were there evidence against me. Fortunately, there is not. Therefore, I shall proceed.
Indeed, this story could not have been conceived in a classroom setting, for one fairly blatant reason. This story has not yet been conceived. More clever readers will note that there has been no actual story thus far. No narration of a chain of events whatsoever. Simply a faint hint of what the story may contain, should it ever commence. You, the reader, are compelled to read on, for some reason beyond my own personal understanding. You certainly do not identify with the character of the pencil eraser, since it has no character. And yet, here you are ... all the way down here. Some people might even read it twice, trying to figure out why I bothered writing it. Makes you think.
Why so much discussion over this alleged story? It is certainly not of earth-shattering importance to the literary world. It is not the foundation of a new school of writing about pencil erasers (although, someone SHOULD look into that), or any other literary "happening" considerable enough to merit such a large-scale introduction. Whatever this story happens to be, it is obviously going to be limited by the facts: it will only consist of text, it will almost certainly be finite, and the focal point of the tale will be a mere pencil eraser. Hardly Pullitzer material. Hardly worth a second notice.
I can't really see the reasons for all the discussion myself. Perhaps just to stall, perhaps to fill up the body of the story so it looks larger than it really is, perhaps it is simply an ooportunity to muse about very little at great length. In any case, there is no good reason for all the discussion, and therefore it shall cease presently. On to the story!
There was a pencil eraser sitting on top of a desk a classroom. Any impartial janitor would've described the classroom as being empty, but in fact it contained several dozen desks, an equal number of chairs, air, dust, radiators, and of course the pencil eraser. So any such a janitor, while keeping his integrity in being impartial, would also be quite wrong.The pencil eraser sat on the desk. Actually, it wasn't sitting. It was completely lifeless, and to say it "sat" would be personification, innocent sounding as it is. I have no desire to personify the eraser. Due to my inability to communicate with the pencil eraser, I must assume that it is happy in its present state. So, the pencil eraser was still on the desk. It did nothing, but we can hardly blame it, since nothing was exactly what it was capable of doing. Resentment towards the pencil eraser at this point would be futile. You have to blame only the author (myself) and the laws of nature which I am observing needlessly. I could very well tell tales of the strivings of alternate dimensions to recapture the pencil eraser and bring it home to store pollen. Don't think I couldn't. I simply choose not to. I always twist nature in my stories. Maybe I'm feeling a bit guilty about it. I don't know. In any case, the pencil eraser just existed for the duration. The end.
That was not an interesting story. Nothing happened. There was no conflict to be developed or resolved. No characters emerged, save the eraser itself, which hardly counts. The verb tenses also changed fairly frequently, which is bad, at least in theory.
Very few people will think about the themes presented in this story, mainly because there really were none. Many an English teacher would enthusiastically insist that it was a plea for the integrity of nature, but that wasn't my intention. Unless some higher force is writing through me, it's not about nature, or anything - and a higher force could've written something more interesting, one would imagine.
Indeed, it is unlikely that I will ever cram into a crowded subway and hear two non-descript humans discussing the merits of "A Pencil Eraser On Top of a Desk". Which is too bad, since it would give me a little thrill. It would be meaningless though. Sort of like this story.