A/N- It doesn't take me long to write these.

3- Delinquent (The Pencil Sharpener)


Artie shuffled away from the center.

"Guess I'm next," Sharpe said. He made his way into the center of the room.

"So, what did you do before here?" Fantine, a desk fan, asked.

"Well..."


Light City High School. A few days before summer break.

Sharpe sat on a wooden desk belonging to Mrs. Smith.

"Now, remember, Next week you take your final exam." She said. The bell rang and the class dispersed. Mrs. Smith herself left the classroom, possibly to use the restroom.

"Finals week!" One of the overhead lamps squealed. "We get the whole school to ourselves in a little while."

"Oh, Lucy," her companion said. "Don't forget about the janitor."

Lucy quieted down. "Oh, that."

Sharpe unplugged himself and dropped down onto Mrs. Smith's soft office chair.

"So, how are you gonna spend summer break?" Lucy asked him.

Sharpe smiled. "Oh, the usual. Hanging out with the vending machines in the teacher's lounge."


"Workin' at Light City High wasn't all sunshine and rainbows," Sharpe said. "It was also dangerous."

Batter, a waffle iron, scoffed. "What could be dangerous about it? You basically sat on a desk. All the pencil shavings you could ever eat." Loretta hit him with one of her cables. "Ow, what was that for?"

"You know what you did," the reel player said.

Sharpe just sighed and continued.

"I didn't know I was so... easily taken."


"Quick! Someone's Coming!" Lucy shouted.

Sharpe had to struggle back on the desk and fit his plug back into the outlet.

In walked Tyler Dobson, noted troublemaker. He ran a few fingers through his brown hair before setting his backpack down. He slowly approached the desk.

Sharpe shuddered. What was he going to do? Sharpe then felt his cord being yanked out followed by being stuffed into the backpack.


"Tyler could've washed his gym clothes," Sharpe groaned, face flushed a sickly shade of green. "I still remember the smell."

Igor nudged a trash can in Sharpe's direction. "If you need this, feel free to use it."

Sharpe threw up into the trash can.

"Do you feel better now?"

"Yup."


Tyler dragged the backpack outside the school, headed to the parking lot. His friends stood by the door.

"You got it?" one of them asked. Tyler opened his backpack and pulled out Sharpe.

The boy handed Tyler fifty bucks.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Mrs. Smith returning to her classroom. He quickly fished Sharpe out of the backpack and tossed him into the trash can outside the school.


"Out of one bad smell, into another."

Igor pushed the trash can again. "Nope, sorry, got nothin' in me to hurl."


Sharpe struggled out of the trash can. He scampered towards the door, trying to avoid getting spotted. He banged on the glass door, but no one opens the door for wayward appliances.

"The janitor must've locked the door," he muttered.

The only hope was to turn to the highway. He got off the sidewalk and scampered down the road.


"So many cars, can't let humans see that I'm alive."

"How'd you run into Mr. St. Peters?" Wattson asked.

Sharpe paused. "It's a funny story."


Sharpe had just turned the corner from the high school and entered the suburbs. Every so often a car or a passing dog walker made him dive into the shrubbery. He paused. Where was a good place to hide out? A store facade came into view. Sharpe could make out the vague shapes of several appliances. He knocked on the door with his plug. The door opened.

Elmo walked outside of his shop. He spotted the pencil sharpener lying on the doormat. "Odd. Did this one just walk up?" He carried Sharpe into the shop. "I'm sure I can get a good amount of money for this."

Money? Sharpe shivered. "It can't be. I must make it home." Sharpe felt himself shoved onto a shelf beside a broken TV.

Once the shopkeeper left the workroom, the TV came to life. "Oh, hi, you must be the new guy."

"Please help me!" Sharpe cried out. "I want to go home."

"Where is this home you speak of?" The ceiling lamp asked.

"Light City High," Sharpe stammered out. "I've got to..."

The fan to his right shuffled over. "This is your home now."

"No one has ever escaped from here." The TV droned. "And No one will."


Why I named them What I did

Fantine- It sounded Nice

Batter- It stuck.