SOLC 4: In Which We Find A Pencil

A pencil drifts carefully across the white eternity. Trailing behind it is a dull, slate line. With every tiny motion the tail grows longer and longer, curving and looping as needed. It is the pencil's sole purpose, threading gray lines forever. But there is joy in its line of work. For every minute spent on the paper the pencil grows closer to perfecting its scribbles. Looking forward it can see that someday the lines will be straight and neat. Someday it won't need to try so hard to perfect every movement. Someday soon it will be able to remember how every shape is supposed to feel under its tip. It will finally make it. It will finally be happy.