Oliver dipped his pencil, took a deep breath, and drew a small, careful line.
He frowned at once. “Too wobbly,” he muttered, rubbing it out so hard the paper wrinkled. He turned the page and tried again: another first line, another tiny mistake, another quick swipe of the eraser. Soon his neat stack of paper was full of ghostly smudges and torn corners.
Outside, the willow leaves whispered in the breeze, and the river chuckled softly over the stones. Inside, Oliver’s whiskers drooped. “If I cannot draw a perfect first line,” he sighed, “I shall not draw at all.” His paw hovered over the paper, wanting to try once more, and trembling just a little with fear of getting it wrong.
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Thanks for reading "The Day Oliver Stopped Being Perfect"!
Written by Junior.