Short Stories

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If the words projected a personality, I imagine the one-sided conversation between loose-leaf paper and writer might progress something like this:




“I see that look in your eye.  I know what it means.  I know it’s hard to piece together the jumbled ideas, but stay with me, please. ”


“…”


“We’ve been here before, you and I.  Somehow, we always fight our way through the fog to make something good.  That’s how we work together.  We make something from nothing.  Don’t give up on us now.  I need you.”


“…”

 
“You only pull me out, when your block is at its worse, honey.  And that's O.K. with me.  I get it.  You always come back to me.  That laptop, with her fancy WORD software, can’t help you pull out of the slump the way I can.  Please, fight it.  Don’t quit on us.” 


“…”


“You hear me, sweet heart. I know you do. Don’t look away from me.  Pick me up.  Feel my texture between your finger tips.  Look beyond my blue lines, and see the hidden story.  Run your finger down my red spine and remember our good times together; times spent pulling a tale from thin air.  Gaze into my pale calm and watch the chaotic alphabet soup line up into the kind of orchestrated beauty, you can only find in me.”

      
“…”


“Please. You love me. You always have.  From the moment you first put your pencil to my lines, I knew I was yours.  And together, we can write anything, sweet heart.  Don’t do this!  Don’t shut me out!  I love you, and you love…”

 
*Crinkle ~ Crackle ~ Crinkle ~ Crubble ~ Pitch* 


Two points.  I don't feel like sympathizing with the paper today.  That story was shaping up to be a little too desperate for me.

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