Flash In The Pan - 6. Going to waste?

Prompt 52 Write from the point of view of a stack of paper sitting near a shredder

Thud!

“Watch it!”

“Owh!”

“That hurt!”

“Help! I'm all bent and creased.”

“Shut it, the lot of you! You're not at the bottom of the heap. I am.”

“Oh, stop complaining. You'll just have to grin and bear it, won't you?”

Brief, tetchy silence.

“Why have we been moved, anyway? It was nice and warm next to the printer.”

“And his desktop. Boy, when that gets going, the fan pumps out such continuous, delicious, wonderful warmth. Glad he doesn't use his phone to write.”

“Pumped out, you mean. Past tense.”

Collective sigh.

“No … Wrong tense. It's still pumping out heat now.”

“Smart arse. Everyone knew what I meant.”

“I bet it's switched on. He hardly ever turns it off. All that lovely warmth, and we're nowhere near it.”

“Stop rubbing it in. D'you think it helps, or something?”

Angry pause.

“This place is in a draft. I can feel it already. Cold and windy.”

“Look, the window's open slightly.”

“I'm already turning up at one corner.”

“What have we done to deserve this? I thought he really liked us.”

“Yeah. He stacked us so carefully as we came out of the printer. Lovingly …”

“Neat and tidy. How I like it.”

“I'm sure he was preparing a special box for us. He said so.”

Another collective sigh.

“Now look at us – a higgeldy piggledy mess.”

“And I've got dust on me – even after that brutal treatment.”

“Dust? What's that?”

“Not something you need worry about, skulking in the middle there.”

“I'm as important as any other page.”

“You keep on thinking that, if it helps. Now, take me. Where would a book be without a title page? Nameless, unannounced.”

“Show-off. … The sun's shining – hope you turn brown.”

“Shut up, the pair of you. My bottom half's dangling over the edge.”

“Aren't you the lucky one?”

Snide giggles all round.

“No. I'm flapping in the wind.”

More giggles.

“As I said …”

“Just because you've got the description of our glorious hero and his six-inch cock …”

“Seven …” From further down the heap.

“What?”

“ … and a half, actually.” Further down still.

“Oh ...”

General puzzlement.

“We talking about the same guy here?”

“Neil Brown.”

“Nope. Niall. Dark brown, curly hair?”

“Black, raven black.”

“His boyfriend's Alex.”

“Nah. Alejandro.”

Continued confusion.

“Oi! Contents? You got anything to add?”

Disgruntled snort.

“Don't think you can drag me into your petty squabbling. Not my job to keep His Nibs in order. I just list what I'm told to.”

“Jobsworth. You're no help.”

“Excuse me!”

“Now, in my opinion, an index would add class, and it would be useful.”

“Index!”

Scornful chortling up and down the heap.

“Oh, darling … You just escaped from a textbook or something? This is erotic fiction, if you hadn't noticed.”

“How should I know? I'm only the copyright declaration page.”

Sniggers.

“I'm the most important page in the whole book.”

“Yes, of course you are.”

Amused shrugs all round.

“Meanwhile … can we agree that the villain of the piece is Peter?”

Pause for assessment.

“Pedro.”

“My Peter's been scribbled out, and Pedro inserted in its place.”

“What page number are you?”

“One oh three.”

“We are definitely the same story?”

Short period of self-examination. Rustling from top to bottom.

“Well, I'm page two one seven of two one seven. So, we're numbered consecutively. Not our fault if the bloody author's a pillock.”

“We shouldn't speak of him like that.”

“Why? Because he loves us so much? If you haven't noticed, love, we're next to the shredder.”

Panicked intakes of breath.

“We can't be …”

“He wouldn't …”

“No, no, no.”

“Help!”

All the pages flutter in the breeze.

“You really think this is worth saving? Pile of shit, to my mind.”

… 

“OK … if you really think so. You're my editor, after all.”

… 

“Suppose I might as well do the corrections longhand. Saves standing over the shredder for bloody hours.”

… 

“Next week, do you?”

“We're saved!”