Journal

The life of a peice of paper is one that is usually short lived and usually comes to a tragic end. As I look and that mean machine I realize that I am one of the vicitms of another cruel and unsusal death. I have only been in use for a short period of time and I feel that I was not used to my full potential. These humans just don't understand how hard it is to be a peice of paper. I just came out of the printer a week ago and I am already being shredded up into a million peices. As the rest of my paper companions are being taken to the machine one by one, I can still hear thier cries over the loud and vicious thing. I sit here thinking to myself how much good I could have done if I was just picked up by a writer of a best selling novel or by a kid who wanted to make an art project for their mom. But instead I am here in a pile of a bunch of paper waiting for my fate to be sealed like the rest of them. As the load is getting lighter and lighter I just calm myself down and embrace the fact that I will soon be with my friends only this time in a bunch of little peices. Right as my friend on top of me was lifted off the stack, I hear the machine die down and soon come to a stop. The human that was told to shred us up was now told to do something else so I guess my luck kicked in right in time. Well for today at least.