The Epic Tale of the Life of a Pencil: Part 6 of 9

Then one day, many years later the old tome creaked open again.  The pencil blinked at the sudden invasion of light into its former world of solitude and discovered that it had been moved sometime in the intervening years.  Instead of the scientist's small study, the pencil now found itself in a great cavernous room with tall, narrow columns of shelves packed tightly with other books. The pencil had never seen so many books all together in the same room in all of its long life and was astounded by their variety.  There were tall books and short books, skinny books and fat books, brightly colored happy books and dark, dusty dreary books.  Some books the pencil even recognized as having helped to create in the hands of its previous masters.
But before the pencil could ponder this thought for too long, a scratchy pair of calloused hands reached down to lift it from the old book that had been its home for so long.  The grizzled old explorer had been searching the stacks for some insight on new and better ways to take accurate measurements at sea and had stumbled onto the pencil while perusing the now long dead scientist's writings.
The explorer's keen eye weighed the pencil's value at a quick glance.  Something about the pencil's unique form gave him pause and caused him to make a closer inspection.  He noticed the perfectly flat side that ran along the length of the entire pencil.  Intrigued by its unique shape, the explorer closed the book he had been reading and placed the pencil atop the book's flat cover.  He slowly lifted the book up off the table and began to tilt it slowly, first to the right, then the left. The explorer tilted it away from himself, then toward himself.  He rocked the book back and forth, up and down, and all around in wildly careening circles.  Yet throughout all these turbulent motions, the pencil remained stuck firmly in its place, anchored to the book's cover by its perfectly flat side.  Amazed at the rare ability of the pencil to steadfastly keep its place in the roughest of "seas", the explorer immediately snatched the pencil up and headed down to the docks to test out his new discovery.
The pencil was delighted at having found a new owner and was looking forward to the adventures that awaited it, when it was struck by the tang of the salt that suddenly permeated the air.  There was a whole new world of sights, smells, and sounds which greeted the pencil in the hands of the ruddy faced explorer.  Great sheets of white billowed atop tall masts. The smoky stench of fresh laid tar wafted between tightly packed berths. Long planks of pine creaked beneath the stout legs of weathered sailors.  The pencil watched in awe as crowds of barefoot sailors ran furiously up and down the docks without missing a step; on and off of neighboring ships without losing balance; skirting left and right to avoid collisions with other sailors, passengers, and crate laden pack animals.  While the pencil admired the chaotic waltz of the people, the explorer mounted his own ship and gave order to set sail.
All at once the air exploded with shouts from every direction as seasoned deckhands barked orders to unsteady young greenhorns.  The old boat released a gut-wrenching groan before lurching free of its moorings and heading underway.  The pencil churned sickly under this new sensation of incessant rocking, but soon settled into the rhythm of the craft's steady roll back and forth. The explorer kept a keen watch on his ship as they cleared the crowded docks and headed into the relative safety of the open waters.  Satisfied that his ship was in good hands, the explorer headed below deck to put his new pencil to the test.
The explorer opened a large chest bolted to the floor of his stateroom and retrieved several of his instruments along with his latest work, a still unfinished chart of shifting sandbars surrounding the local barrier islands.  He carefully gathered up his tools before heading back up to the poop deck that afforded him the best views from the ship.  The explorer carefully laid out each of his instruments along the deck after unfolding his incomplete map.  He placed the pencil down on top of his work and watched for a moment as the faithful pencil held its place despite the ship's constant swaying.
Grinning with pride, the salty old explorer pick up each of his instruments in turn.  He stood for a moment, gaining his bearings with each before taking a careful measurement, marking his notes with the loyal pencil after each weighing.  Soon his cracked and sunburned hands were able to find the dependable pencil locked reliably in the exact spot where he had left it just moments before, without the aid of his eyes.
Without realizing it, the explorer began to seamlessly move between each instrument without taking his eyes off the horizon.  His hands found both pencil and map notes without thought or effort.  He could take bearings faster than ever before and pushed his crew to increase the vessel's speed to its very limit to keep up with the progress of his work.  Mile after mile of sandbar and coastline were mapped with greater accuracy than the explorer had ever achieved before.  He worked past the waning dusk and late into the night: mapping the stars once his coastline drawings were done.
Finally, the moans from his exhausted deckhands broke through the explorer's trance. His eyes strained to focus on a nearby object for the first time in several hours.  Squinting with the effort, the explorer looked down past the pencil in his hands at all the new maps it had created. He was amazed at the delicate details the steady tool had captured.  And even more amazed to see dawn breaking on the grey seas.  Feeling the weariness in his old bones for the first time in the entire voyage, the explorer gave order to return to port and trundled away to his cabin with volumes of his work carefully tucked under each arm.  He held the steady pencil firmly in his meaty hands as he gently returned his newly minted maps to the sturdy trunk.  His grip remained unwavering even as he passed out in his cot.  He didn't even return to the deck until the ship was firmly docked in port, unnerving his entire crew.  This was the first time in their memory that he had been absent during the final approach to any port.
Bleary eyed, the old explorer emerged from his cabin at midday and immediately set to work making preparations for the greatest voyage of his life.  The explorer knew he could make his fortune documenting the geography of the new lands across the ocean.  With his trusty pencil tucked safely under his wide belt, the bold explorer intended to do just that.
After many weeks of gathering stores and recruiting a brave set of experienced crewmen, the explorer was anxious to finally get underway with his new pencil.  And the pencil was equally impatient to help the old explorer document new and wondrous lands.  Each night during the long voyage to the new lands across the sea, the explorer would sneak the pencil atop deck and practice taking bearings from the stars; just for the sheer joy of feeling the pencil leap to his hands so effortlessly.
Until early one morning, "Land ahoy!", came the cry from the crow's nest far above deck.  Delighted, every man on board raced to the bulwark to catch a glimpse of the far off new lands with the old explorer leading the way.  His keen eye confirmed the initial call and certain of his fortunate future he ordered his men back to work so he could begin his map-making.
After taking an initial reading from a well known landmark, the explorer immediately set to work.  Again he pushed his crew to drive the ship faster and faster to keep up with his well honed eyes and deft hands.  On and on they sailed taking readings and recording mysterious new shores until darkness forced the explorer to finally quit for the evening.  Each morning the explorer would awake anew well before dawn to start all over again.  Day after day, the endless ritual repeated, until the ships stores grew thin and the crew began grumbling words of mutiny.
Finally, the old explorer relented and gave order to gave order to put in at the nearest port.  Relieved, the crew worked with renewed vigor to gain dry land after so long at sea.  But just as the lights of civilization appeared on the last night of their arduous journey, a terrible storm blew in from the east.  With it came icy winds and sheets cold driving rain, soaking the once hearty sailors to the bone.  The old explorer had resumed his nighttime recordings of the stars to pass the time and was caught unawares by the turbulent seas carried with the deadly storm.
Confident in the pencil's well earned sea-legs, the explorer set the pencil down in order to blast orders at his unsteady crew.  But a rogue wave burst across the deck without warning, tossing the old explorer to his knees.  It was from this prone position that he spied his trusty pencil lose its grip for the first time aboard the ship.  All those long hours in the salty, humid air had finally warped the wood from its perfectly flat surface.  The wild rocking from the storm broke the pencil's timid hold on the deck, and a second rogue wave washed it overboard with the rest of the unfastened flotsam.  The old explorer howled futilely into the roaring winds, but his attention quickly returned to saving his ship and crew from the murderous storm.
As the pencil floated away with the tide, it thought back over its long life and of all the fantastic lands it had traveled.  It knew that it was a very lucky pencil to have been chosen to record such wild and untamed coasts. And if it never got a chance to draw another foreign expanse, then it would consider itself to have lived a long and fruitful life.

The Epic Tale of the Life of a Pencil: Part 5 of 9

Then one evening, as the room's newest attendees arrived, the pencil noticed a strange young man accompanying the evening's beauty.  His eyes seemed to wander idly about the room, distracted by some inner turmoil.  Until they alighted on the pencil and immediately burned with the same passion usually reserved for the lady of the night.
The young man grabbed the pencil from its resting place on the bedside table and was immediately fascinated by the unique gash in its side, running his fingers incessantly along its edge.  Mumbling something incomprehensible to both the pencil and his compatriot, the man rushed out of the room, down the hall, and into the night without a second thought to his previous plans for the evening.
Upon arriving in his study at home, the young man pulled out all manner of strange contraptions.  There were big beakers and frothy phials of strange liquids; great globes and odd oblongs of blown glass; twisted tweezers and crooked calipers of shiny metal.  There were compasses and sextants and squares; levels and protractors and plumb-bobs.  Every manner of instrument cluttered the young scientist's study, each precisely calibrated to aid him in measuring the forces of his world.
After arranging several of these instruments on his sizable desk, the young scientist pulled out the pencil which had piqued his curiosity so virulently that evening and began his inspection. He measured its length, width, breadth, and depth.  He measured the circumference at various points, from tip to tail.  He weighed it and balanced it and appraised it, using every device at his disposal.  Each time he completed a measurement of some aspect of the pencil, the scientist would pause to make a note in his meticulously organized notebook which sat in a place of honor at the center of his desk.
Finally the scientist picked up the pencil in earnest and began to add new notes into his book.  This writing was like nothing the pencil had ever seen before.  There was a whole new alphabet of strange symbols; mixing letters and numbers from many different alphabets together to form whole sentences without words.  There were carefully annotated sketches and strictly regimented lines, short defining sentences and long paragraphs of explanations.  Each line of text seemed to build upon the conclusions of the last line, leading to some unknown ultimate epiphany.
Until suddenly, "Eureka!", the young man cried into the glowing light of the pre-dawn.  The pencil was startled by the sudden outburst of its new owner.  But the pencil barely had time to catch its breath as the scientist began furiously writing with it again.  Only now the once tidy, well organized lines of symbols careened wildly all over the page.  Letters and numbers came streaming out of the pencil's quickly dulling tip into the scientist's notebook faster than ever.  Page after page was filled with these strange equations.  Until the scientist, spent from his evening's exertions, finally completed the solution to his problem and marked his finale with three simple letters: Q.E.D.
Satisfied with the evening's progress, the scientist lovingly ran his fingers along the pencil's scar one last time before putting it away for the day.  The pencil sat quietly in the darkened study after the scientist left.  It was completely worn out from all the furious scribblings it had created.  But still the pencil sat pondering this new language it had inscribed into the scientist's notebook and was satisfied with a good days work.
The next morning the scientist arrived in his study and again examined the pencil's ominous defect.  He glanced at his notebook with the extraordinary new ideas that the blemish had inspired.  It was while he was reviewing the notes from his previous nights' efforts that he discovered yet another solution.  The pencil need not be permanently scarred.  In fact, the very formulas created from the gash's inspiration could be used to alter and repair the flaw.  Immediately the scientist set to work renewing the life of the pencil which had given him the gift of insight.
He calculated the angles, measured the lengths, and figured the exact plane that could remove the defect without permanently damaging the innate beauty of the pencil.  After finding the solution, the scientist immediately set to work gently whittling the pencil down to its new dimensions.  He scraped and scratched and scuffed, pausing frequently to check his measurements all along the way.  Until finally, the scientist lifted the pencil from his workbench to inspect the product of his labor and wept with pride to see the last vestiges of the old scar removed.  Satisfied at having solved the problem of the disfigured pencil, the scientist tucked the pencil safely into an old book and promptly forgot about it.
The pencil didn't mind having a nice quiet book wrapped safely around its new form.  In fact, with its newly acquired flattened side, it found that it fit quite nicely between the pages of the stuffy volume.  And it gave the pencil some time to look back over its life and stunning journey that had brought it this far.  The pencil had pondered the mysteries of the existence in the hands of the monk, seen the wonders of the world in the hands of the composer, and plunged through the depths of humanity in the hands of the artist.  But in the hands of the scientist it had comprehended the workings of the universe. It knew that it was a very lucky pencil to have been chosen to record such wondrous proofs. And if it never got a chance to formulate another argument, then it would consider itself to have lived a long and fruitful life.