Write from the POV of a stack of papers a few inches away from the shredder

            We have been sitting quietly in our pile for months, but now there is this terrible noise! It’s so loud and grating. We can see our neighbors be put into what looks like a trashcan. Doesn’t this person know paper should be recycled? What a waste for us to be thrown into a trash can. We’ll end up in a land fill, covered in coffee grounds, our writing smudged by rain, and surrounded be used tissues and garbage—what a terrible ending! I know this because I’ve read.

            I, in fact, used to be a hand out about recycling. Then I was recycled. That wasn’t a very pleasant process, but I felt proud that the human who read me had learned something; I taught a human! Plus, being recycled, I felt useful. I even thought that I had become something important. I had “vital information” written on me.

            If I were to be recycled again, I would want to become a book. A text book would be nice. A good novel would be better. I cannot imagine being a trash romance novel or a cheap paperback novel though. I shudder to think about such a fate. Would it be better to be thrown out? I guess I have no choice though. Humans, they write all over us and then take us for granted.

            Ah, here is the human picking me up. Yeah, human, read me! See, I contain vital information! I’m worth more than these other throwaway papers! Wait, you’re not looking at me. Look at me! I’m worth keeping!

            There’s that noise again. What is that terrible noise?!

            That’s when I look down and see it. This is not a garbage can. This is a paper shredder. The horror! The horror! No, I can’t be shredded just to be thrown away! I will be separated from myself! I’m too young for this! The tree I came from was only cut down a year ago. Recycle me, human! Please, I beg you! Recycle me! Why don’t you hear me? Listen to me! Recycle me!

            She’s lowering me toward the blades now! No! No! Please, somebody save me!