Paper and Shredder

Really intriguing exercise I did: the idea was to write a creative bit from the perspective of a piece of paper lying near a shredder. Unfinished, but I think you'll like it.

Feelings and thoughts and foggy remembrances sloshed about. “Who am I?” it pondered blearily as it awoke. It scanned the room. There was little save a blank wall and a bluish box to the side. “Wall… wall… Is it a wall? …or a ceiling?” Things were slowly becoming clearer, crystallizing into place. “A ceiling. It’s a ceiling, not a wall. I’m on my back.” It focused now on its internal state, feeling for itself. There seemed to be only a solid block�"no arms, no legs; nothing at all, really. Yet… there was substance. “I have form,” it thought. “Some kind of form. I’m… a solid. …I have a locus of being.” Satisfied, it began taking note again of the outside world. It strained intensely to recognize the blue shape on its right, but could not. “I’m angled away. I can’t�"" Suddenly, a draft caught the air, sending flutterings throughout the room. The thing felt itself being lifted; it felt the breeze permeating it, violating it. It panicked as it was heaved up and tossed over, rolled to and fro in the air. But as quickly as the gust had started, it faded… and the thing settled slowly into place again on the table. “Where am I now?” it thought with a quiver of distress, collecting itself. Staring ahead, the thing was immediately struck by the mightiest flush of pure terror: there was the box�"a mere 3 inches away, large and menacing. For reasons it knew not, the thing felt penetrated through and through by the most primal of fears. The dread in its mind ran deep. The box was a predator�"the box meant Death. “I’ve got to get the hell out of here,” it thought with overwhelming anxiety. The thing frantically tried to move�"nothing happened. “Please, please, please…” No amount of focus could cause even the tiniest change. It sat unstirred. The blue box seemed almost to breath; it radiated a rancorous air of evil , and appeared to wheeze in and out, straining to inhale like an old man or a sick dog. The paper, meanwhile, desperately struggled  to move away. “Go, go, go,” it thought. “Ah! What a nightmare this is! …Please, I must move!” [unfinished]

Author's Note

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one. Very fun to do.

Reviews

[C.Weaver]

Very original! kinda funny aswell. A brand of Dark Comedy that gets increasingly surreal as you work out what the "thing" is. Im not sure if you meant it to be funny, but i still found it amusing. I'd like to know how you came up with the idea of self aware paper. Sorta reminds me of the whale from The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy