Hello everyone. I haven't been posting much, I'm sorry. School really makes you work, and homework has taken fairly long. I am also working on art, which I will post in my art book when I finish.

Anyway, here is a random Oneshot. It's not based on any fandom, and I really just went off of something that came to mind. It took me a while to write, but I figured since I haven't posted much writing recently that I might as well do this. It's pretty dark, you have been warned. Do not scroll down if you get uncomfortable about sad topics easily. There is a slight trigger warning in this story, the topic is kind of about giving up. Scroll down at your own risk.

Ok so chances are if you scrolled down you are ready. You've been given a fair warning, here we go.

There is a sort of dance, a movement of pencil and eraser, and it is this dance that dictates the fate of the paper, a life.

Squeak, squeak

A pencil darts across the snow white of a paper.

Squeak squeak.

An eraser, too, darts left and right over grey lines.

They watch as their hand draws yet another line.

Just as quickly they watch as their eraser wipes yet another mistake.

With each passing moment, a 'this may work,' and with each passing moment, a mistake.

Every. Single. Time.

Mistake after mistake, failure after failure. Is this the life which all are led to lead? The reality of success, was it ever a reality all?

If so, then is failure all that is left?

Hands tremble as they attempt to continue, why do they insist on continuing,  are they blind?

Crack.

The tip of their pencil breaks away, small bits of grey scatter.

They, too, must break away. Blind hope, failure, blind hope failure, the cycle must end. The dance has been going long enough.

They see now. They were the mistake.

And mistakes get erased.