Julian was ten years old, all bright eyes and a smile too big for his face. He swung his arms between his parents as they walked home—one hand in his mother’s, the other in his father’s. Sunday afternoons like this—fresh out of a family movie, a little popcorn still stuck in his teeth—were his favorite.

  As they passed a stationery store, his steps slowed. The shop was sleek, glowing with bright glass shelves lined with premium pens and pencils—metallic bodies, embossed textures, polished tips. His eyes lit up like he'd found a treasure chest.

  “Daddy! Daddy! Look at that pencil! Can we go see?” he asked, voice bubbling with awe.

  His father glanced at the store. It looked expensive. He hesitated, brows tightening.

  Julian’s mother noticed. She smiled gently and said, “Julian, this shop sells high-priced items. We’ll get you something from the regular store, okay?”

  Julian shook his head eagerly. “I just want to see! Not to buy, I promise. Please, Mom? Please, Dad? Just five minutes?”

  After a pause, they gave in and stepped inside.

  The store smelled like wood polish and clean glass. Julian wandered with wonder, eyes scanning every shelf until one particular item caught him—a golden pencil, sleek and shining, its tip resting like a crown in a velvet-lined case.

  He checked the price tag.

  $7.

  For a pencil.

  His hand slowly reached for it. “Dad,” he whispered, “I want this one.”

  His father’s voice dropped instantly. “Julian, you said we were only here to look.”

  The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. “You came just to look?” His voice was flat, clearly unimpressed. “If you're not buying, please leave. This isn't a toy store.”

  Julian’s mother flushed with embarrassment. She grabbed his arm. “Let’s go.”

  But Julian’s lips trembled. His eyes watered. “Please, I want it! I really want it!”

  “Enough!” his father snapped—and in a flash, his palm struck Julian’s cheek.

  The store went quiet.

  Even the shopkeeper looked surprised.

  Julian clutched his face, lips quivering, tears spilling fast. His cries weren’t loud—just small, shaken sobs as he held his mother’s hand, his tiny body limp and trembling.

  They left the store in silence.

  The shopkeeper clicked his tongue as they exited. “Tch. Bad luck today.”

  Julian didn’t understand why it hurt so much.

  He just knew:

  He wanted something… and got slapped for it.

  He didn’t think too hard about it. He was too young to turn it into a proper thought. But something stayed with him in that moment—a feeling. A deep, simmering something that didn’t have words yet.

  By the time they reached home, Julian’s father was still angry. The silence between them was sharp. Julian’s mother tried to soothe the air with soft words.

  “Julian, it’s okay. Don’t cry,” she said gently, brushing his hair back. “We’ll get you a nice pencil from the nearby shop, okay? They all write the same, don’t they? Just black on white, baby. A pencil’s a pencil. That gold one was just too expensive, sweetie.”

  Julian just nodded. Acted like he understood.

  Like he had accepted he was wrong.

  But when he stood in front of the mirror in his room, sniffling, he couldn’t hide from what he really felt. His cheek still hurt from the slap—red and warm like it was on fire.

  He touched it. Winced. Tears welled up again.

  I just wanted that pencil.

  It looked so shiny. So cool. If he bought it, he could’ve shown it to his friends tomorrow at school. They would’ve said “whoa” and asked to touch it. Maybe even hold it for a second.

  He would've been the coolest kid in class.

  It was just a pencil.

  Dad buys beer all the time. Mom gets a new dress for every wedding.

  But I get slapped. For asking once.

  He bit his lip, hard. His eyes burned, but he didn’t cry out loud. He just stared at his reflection, the angry pink handprint on his face.

  That’s not fair.

  After dinner, his father finally spoke.

  “Julian,” he said, softer now, “I only slapped you because you broke your word. You said you just wanted to look. Then inside, you became stubborn. It was embarrassing when the shopkeeper told us to leave. That’s why I was angry. I’ll buy you a good pencil soon, alright?”

  Julian nodded. His cheek didn’t sting anymore. And the anger in his chest—at least for now—was gone. That night, he fell asleep easily.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  But in his dreams…

  A golden pencil, larger than him, stood in a field of blank paper. It had a smiling face, childish and strange.

  “Julian, do you want me? Come get me! Hehehehe!”

  He chased it. Laughed. Played. He woke up smiling.

  But that dream stuck with him.

  Julian's mom combed his hair and readied his uniform while his father adjusted the bike outside. Both parents were workers—his dad worked as a mechanic, his mom at a baking shop—and like every morning, they dropped him at school on their way.

  Julian sat between them on the bike, small hands gripping tightly, his legs swinging awkwardly. He felt safe there—sandwiched by warmth—but also squeezed, uncomfortable in ways he couldn’t explain.

  When they left him at school, he let out a soft breath of relief and made his way to class.

  The morning began like usual—Julian laughing with his friend, tossing light jokes until the teacher entered. Class settled quickly. As the lesson began, Julian's eyes grew heavy. Sleep tugged at him. His head drooped slightly.

  “Julian!” the teacher snapped. “Get up. Go stand at the back.”

  He blinked, startled, and obeyed.

  As he reached the last row, something caught his eye—a familiar glint. His gaze locked onto Liam, the richest boy in class, seated just a few desks ahead.

  Liam always showed off—his compass box imported, his lunch from fancy bakeries, and today, in his hand, a golden pencil.

  It was just like the one Julian had seen in the shop.

  Julian's stomach twisted. A strange feeling curled inside him. Not just longing… but something sharper. Jealousy.

  Why does he get to have it?

  Then, it happened.

  Liam laughed at something his friend said, gesturing with the pencil in hand—and it slipped. It rolled, bounced once, and landed right between Julian’s feet.

  Time slowed. Julian stared at it. His heart thudded.

  He glanced around—no one looking. Liam still scanning the floor in confusion.

  Julian bent down slowly, pretending to scratch his leg. And with practiced ease, he tucked the pencil under his sock.

  Safe. Hidden.

  “Liam! Sit up straight!” the teacher barked. “Pay attention!”

  Liam obeyed, eyes still darting around his desk.

  Julian straightened. His pulse settled.

  The golden pencil was his now.

  He felt it against his ankle—cool, real, thrilling. And as Liam’s eyes filled with panic, searching in vain, Julian didn’t feel guilt.

  He felt something else.

  Not exactly joy. Not exactly pride.

  But something… exciting.

  He didn’t know what to call it yet. But he liked it.

  And most of all—he needed to make sure no one ever found out.

  As the class ended, the teacher gave Julian a quick glance before walking out. Julian stood for a moment, then quietly sat back down at his desk.

  Liam jumped up and clapped his hands.

  “Guys! Can someone help me find my golden pencil? I’ll give a full-size chocolate bar to whoever finds it!”

  Gasps filled the room. Students dropped to their knees like treasure hunters, crawling under desks, arguing over who’d searched where.

  Julian crouched too, pretending to look, but sweat trickled down his back. What if someone saw?

  Then—his classmate beside him spotted a glint of gold near Julian’s sock.

  “Hey… Julian, what’s that in your sock?” the boy asked, eyes narrowing.

  Julian shot up. “It’s nothing,” he said quickly.

  The classmate frowned, stepping closer. “Show me. What is it?”

  But Julian was faster. He pulled the golden pencil from his sock with a sheepish grin.

  “Liam! I just found this under my desk. Is this yours?”

  Liam hurried over, grabbed the pencil, gave it a sniff—and winced.

  “Yeah, that’s it! I guess it rolled somewhere weird.”

  He laughed and handed Julian the chocolate bar.

  Julian smiled, but his classmate just stared. He’d seen it come from the sock. He’d seen everything.

  “You liar!” the classmate shouted. “You hid it! You stole it!”

  But Julian was already one step ahead. He laughed nervously.

  “Why are you lying, man? Just for a chocolate bar?” he said to the classmate, then turned his head toward Liam and asked, “You think I’d do that?”

  Liam looked at the shouting classmate and just shrugged.

  “Julian found it. I’ve got my pencil back. So let’s just move on.”

  Silence settled.

  Julian sat down. His earlier smile vanished, replaced by a growing scowl as he glanced at the classmate who had nearly exposed him. His grip tightened around the chocolate bar until it crumpled in his fist.

  Then, he sighed and slid the squashed chocolate into his bag.

  He didn’t even want it anymore.

  But he wasn’t about to give it back.—

  -----

  Four years later, Julian found his old school bag while cleaning.

  The same one from when he was ten—stitched at the corners, now torn again. Inside were worn notebooks, loose sheets, and, buried near the bottom, a crinkled chocolate wrapper.

  The chocolate bar from that day.

  Pale now, long expired. But he had never eaten it.

  He held it for a moment, silent.

  He remembered the golden pencil. The slap. The lie. The rush.

  At ten, he’d acted on impulse. Now, at fourteen, he was smarter.

  He didn’t cry for what he wanted. He didn’t beg.

  He waited. Planned. Took.

  People still underestimated him. That helped.

  The pencil was gone. But what it taught him stayed.

  He slipped the chocolate back into the bag and moved on.

  That night, while the house slept, Julian moved without a sound.

  He stepped into the living room, bare feet silent on the cold floor. His father's wallet lay on the table, just where it always did after dinner. Julian opened it carefully, fingers practiced. He didn’t take much—just a small note. Never enough to be noticed.

  Back in his room, he reached under his bed and pulled out an old hardcover book. It looked ordinary from the outside, but its center had been hollowed out with a blade.

  Inside, a stash of folded notes rested like buried treasure.

  Julian added the new bill, closed the book, and slid it back beneath the bed.

  No sound. No guilt. Just precision.

  He didn’t steal because he was desperate. He stole because he could. Because no one saw him. And he never asked for things anymore—not since the pencil incident.

  If he wanted something, he didn’t beg or cry. He stole for it. Quietly. In small amounts. Until it stacked enough to buy the things he wanted.

  The next day at school, a classmate named Lary was caught using a small handheld video game during class.

  The teacher snapped, “You shouldn’t bring this to school,” then gave it back with a warning. “Next time, it goes to the principal.”

  Julian watched it all from his seat, silent.

  His gaze lingered on the device—sleek, glowing with tiny lights. He didn’t care about the game itself, not really. What caught him was the possibility—owning it, without paying for it. Without asking. The thrill stirred in him again.

  He began to plan.

  Later, during sports period, everyone ran to the playground. Footballs thudded against the ground, kids yelling across the field.

  Julian didn’t join.

  He waited, then slipped away when no one was looking.

  Back in the classroom, it was empty—just bags on benches, still and silent. Julian moved quickly. He found Lary’s bag, unzipped it, and there it was—the device.

  He turned it on, the screen lighting up. A small grin tugged at his lips as he tapped the buttons. Then, calm and focused, he opened the battery case and popped the batteries out.

  To frame someone else.

  He slipped the batteries into the bag of a boy who sat next to Lary. Quiet kid. Easy target.

  As for the device—he didn’t hide it in his own bag. Too risky.

  Instead, he took a plastic pouch from his backpack, sealed the device inside, and tucked it under his shirt, pressing it flat against his stomach.

  Outside, while the others were still distracted, he searched the school grounds for a tree with loose soil. Near the fence, behind the storage shed, he found one.

  Carefully, he dug with his hands. Not deep—just enough. He placed the wrapped device into the earth and covered it back up.

  The plastic would keep out water and dirt. It would be safe.

  He’d come back for it. Not tomorrow—too soon.

  But in a week, when everyone had forgotten.

  Then it would be his.

  No cost. No suspicion. No one saw a thing.