She spoke in a tone that was jagged to the ears of the many that stood beside her.

A weak pen with little to no ink, that's all she is.

It would hit a knick and it would fail to glide seamlessly across the paper, but nonetheless it would endeavor the battle to write.

And she would do the same.

Her eyes scurried over the many faces watching her.

This was her time to speak.

She knew in a few minutes time the crowd would no longer acknowledge her, and there feet would grow tired, and there minds would be filled with the future.

And so she continued.

The paper was already waiting; all she needed to do was try.