Timothy the paper clip lived in Factory City, where everything had its own job and place to be. Because he was a paper clip, he lived, of course, with the other paper clips. Their one and only job was to clip paper.

It was a very boring job. Every day, the paper came in packs of ten. Every day, they opened themselves and clipped them together. And every day, the paper clip found himself looking longingly over at the pencils at their station, who had the best job ever.

They could write, and draw, and it was fun, too. They got to write something new every time. And whenever orders came in, they were usually for the pencils.

Everyone wanted pencils. Nobody wanted paper clips.

Even though Timothy knew that he was supposed to just be a paper clip, he could be so many other things with so many other purposes.

He could unroll himself and become a long metal wire, good for scraping old paint off of the wall.

He could curl himself into a small fish hook, and catch fish with it in the pond nearby.

And Timothy could even make marks like the pencils. One day, after an especially long, boring work period, he had decided to go down to the pond for the first time. He unrolled himself from his usual paper clip form, and as he walked down the beach, the paper clip noticed something. He was making marks, just like the pencils did!

Excited by this thought, he tried again, carefully and deliberately moving his wire through the sand. A line, he thought. I've seen the pencils make those!

Ever since then, Timothy had returned to the pond, trying to copy the shapes the pencils made with their gray tails. He even managed to grab some lead dust, paint it on his wire, and write on some scraps of paper.

He had gotten better, he supposed, but there was still work to be done before he was as good as them.

Timothy's writing had remained a secret for a long time now, and he wanted to tell someone so badly. He knew he couldn't tell just anyone.

After some thought, Timothy decided to tell his closest paper clip friends.

He brought his friends back to the pond, where he showed them his writing. He waited for their praise to come as he dragged his long silver wire through the ground, making a line just like he practiced.



When no words came, he asked, "Isn't it great? Do you think I'll ever get to write actual words? I could teach you guys how to write too!"

His friends glanced at each other, then sadly shook their heads. "Timothy, we're never going to become as good as pencils." said Sarah.

"Yeah, we're paper clips, remember? There's no way we can become like the pencils." said Oscar.

"Clipping paper is our job!" said Marley. "It's in our name, remember?"

Timothy felt terrible as he watched his friends slowly walk away. He thought of all people his friends might support him with his dream to write. He sat down, disappointed, wondering if they were right. Was it impossible for him to learn how to write? But what was the difference between the paper clips and the pencils? He knew that if he were taught correctly, he could write just like the pencils. It was just that nobody was willing to give him an opportunity.

Then, he realized something. He couldn't let his friends stop him. He would try to learn how to write, even if he had to ask the pencils themselves.

And that's exactly what he planned to do.