My pencil flew across the paper. It bounced and danced as it depicted details of a fantasy world.
My wrist ached, but though it tried, it couldn't convince me to stop writing. I was in the zone.
"Just a few lines more…" I told myself, but then a few lines later I whispered,
"Just a few lines more…" and I knew I wasn't going anywhere.

Then I stopped suddenly, mid sentence and looked up into my mom's smiling eyes. In her hands she held a small box, delicately wrapped with a big red bow.
"It's not my birthday…" I trailed off, as she put the box on the table in front of me.
"I know." She said cheerfully, then she left. I pounced at the box with child-like excitement, then tore and shredded the beautiful wrapping paper. In a few moments, I had the unwrapped gift in my hands. It was just what I wanted. The "PencilBot 4000"

I shrieked with delight and ran to say "thank you" to my mother. I thrust open the box, which, may I just say, is quite a difficult task without scissors, and at last I held the PencilBot in my hand. I threw my old pencil to the floor, and positioned the Bot right where I had finished writing. I removed my hand, and it stayed there, hovering. I giggled hysterically with excitement, then pushed the tiny "On" button on the Bot. It beeped once, signaling that it was ready to write. I looked to see where I left off, and continued from there.

"Rebecca peered cautiously over the edge of the cliff, at the swirling, dancing, soaring griffons in the city below."
I could see the pencil writing something, so I paused to check it's work. It was perfect. Punctuation, spelling, handwriting, everything. It was absolutely perfect.
I continued on with the next line, and checked it again. Perfect.
Line after line, I checked its work, and line after line, it was perfect. At one point it even cleared up a grammar error!

"Come on! Its time for lunch!" My dad called from the other room. The chattering voices of my siblings rushed by me. I sighed and looked at my paper. Yep. The Pencil had written it all. Every one of the conversations. In just a few moments, it had completely filled my paper. I turned off the Bot and set it down so that I could grumble under my breath as I erased without it writing on the floor.

After a significant amount of erasing, my now rather gray paper was clear again. I set the PencilBot to work, but this time I didn't check it's work every time. I got to a point in my story with dialog, and I enjoyed getting to say what my characters said. i just imagined the confusion of my siblings in the other rooms in hearing me ask myself in a southern accent if a dragon had left yet. I finished a large portion, and realized I had not checked its work once. I leaned over, excited to see the perfection, but it wasn't there. It didn't understand quotes.

The last half hour I had told my story, and it had not gotten any of it right. Worse yet, I didn't quite remember how I had said it. Once it was written I forgot how I worded things.
I would have to rewrite the whole thing.
I was done writing for the day, and I left to have dinner with my family. The next day, I didn't write at all because I had friends over. That night, I came into my bedroom, and found two of my brothers in my room. They were staring at my wall, laughing hysterically.

"Get out of my room!" I screamed at them. They were laughing so hard it worried me, so after they left I went to look at the wall. I had left my PencilBot on, and it had written all over the wall, every word me or my friends had said all day. Then I found the big secret my friend Margret had shared with me. She told me to never tell anyone because it would ruin her reputation at our school. I had agreed both to not share it, and that it would indeed destroy her reputation if word got out. Now there it was, in big, bold, dark letters, written on my wall, right at my brother's eye level.

I pleaded with my brothers not to tell anyone, but that just made them more excited to share it. I also got in trouble for writing on all four walls of my bedroom, and my punishment was that I couldn't leave my room until there was not a trace of a word left on any of my walls. By the time I was able to come out of my room, my friend Margret's secret was the talk of the school. Margret was a laughing stock. I was furious with my brothers, but I was even more furious at my PencilBot. I held it in my hand, glaring at it, but knowing that it was not effected by this, and that it didn't care made me even more mad.

Then my eyes caught on my little wooden pencil. It was laying there, in the corner, right where I had thrown it. It was almost a sad sight, seeing it there, all alone. I had loved that pencil. I walked over, and I scooped it up. I put my PencilBot back in its box, sat down at the table with my little wooden pencil in hand, and together we wrote my apology to Margret.