A Blank Page
I'm not in the particular habit of writing fiction, but as I'm approaching that point in life where I have to decide what I want to do to make something out of myself, I have begun to harbour the thought of writing some stuff.
Thus, the story below came one evening during BM tuition and it wouldn't leave my head until I had written it down. It hasn't been edited yet (not that I even have the time to), but yeah, just something I'd like you to take a look and comment on please.
***
The Blank Page
There was once a sheet of papers. They were fresh from the store, that is, they were blank, white and absolutely clean. For a time, they lived upon a table in a study room, and they got to know all the inhabitants of said room.
There was the old and wise dictionary, who was lord of the room. Then there was the stationeries, who came in all sorts of shapes and sizes with different uses and functionalities. Across the floor sat the fat, arrogant computer, who usually shunned the papers, and preferred to mock them daily. The aristocrat books lounged lazily on the shelf as they looked over everybody else. These were just some of the many, many things that populated that study room.
But the bond of friendship was strongest between the papers themselves, and for a long time they was great joy and merriment.
After a while though, things began to change. The Master began to take the papers away and use them, sometimes one at a time, or sometimes a few of them at once as a bundle. The remaining papers watched, as their friends were used in the Master’s daily tasks.
Some of them were transformed into things of beauty and wonder as art was printed upon them. Others took on a more practical role and helped the Master keep track of his money or record His thoughts.
There were also a rare few, who disappeared for months on end, years even, and suddenly they returned, but were radically different, for they were now part of a book. They were the ones who received the highest recognition of anything in the study room, for they were the result of the Master’s toil, the fruit of His labour, and thus they sat on the most esteemed position atop the shelves with the books.
Since that happened, it had been every papers dream to share in that destiny, and hence it was considered to be the pinnacle of a paper’s success.
Naturally, not many papers were able to make that dream a reality. Sometimes, the Master used them for more mundane things, like doodling, or folding paper planes. They never achieved that which they longed for, and became nothing more.
However, there were a few who shared an even worse fate, for they had been the unfortunate few to become draft prints or ruined thoughts. They made the Master angry or upset, and the papers watched in horror as they were ripped apart or crumpled and crush, before being thrown into the Wastepaper Bin.
Ever since then it was every paper’s worst nightmare to be thrown into the Wastepaper Bin.
This was how the days went by, and more and more papers met one of the three eventualities.
There was one paper, however, who was different. For you see, he never did fulfill any of the destinies of a paper. His name was Lios.
One day, Lios was pulled away from the paper stack, just like all other papers before him. But just as his fate was about to be decided, the Master was distracted, and placed Lios upon the table and left. When the Master returned though, he had forgotten about what he intended to do with Lios. Because of that, Lios lay on that table, ignored, for a very long time.
At first, Lios didn’t mind his predicament. He tried to make the best of it. From where he was, he was able to be better acquainted with the blue pen and the stapler. Sometimes the cellphone would drop by and they would have a nice chat. For a time, everything still seemed alright.
After a while though, Lios began to tire of his situation. Day after day he saw his peers being put to use, and most of them ended up with pretty good lives. He saw some of his own friends, the more special ones, become books, while others, who had not achieved that peak, were at least important to the Master in ways that Lios was not as he continued to lie on the table.
Of course, Lios was perfectly content that he was not torn to pieces and thrown away either. But Lios didn’t want to merely survive every day. He wanted to live.
Over time, Lios’ envy of his friends began to transform into jealousy, as he watched helplessly from the sidelines while his friends went on to greater things. Lios felt angry, but he was not sure at who. Was he angry at the Master for abandoning him? Was he angry at his friends succeeding without him? Or was he just angry at himself for being so powerless and doing nothing? Whatever it was, no amount of guidance or counseling from the blue pen or the stapler would calm him down.
Eventually Lios began to formulate vengeful thoughts in his head. He imagined his friends who had become books would be burned to cinders in a terrible fire. He imagined that the others would be eaten by the Master’s dog, or turned to shreds by the Shredder that was rumored to live in the adjacent room.
But sometimes when the rage flew over, Lios became depressed. Sometimes he felt like crying, but he didn’t want to do so in the presence of the blue pen and the stapler, who by now were his best friends.
As days turned into weeks, weeks into months and months into years, Lios was trapped in the cycle of jealousy, hatred, depression and helplessness.
Then one day, the Master left a window open after he had exited the room. A strong gale was brewing, and soon a breeze slinked into the study room, probingly at first, but with increased confidence as the wind began to pick up.
Most of the inhabitants of the study room had nothing to fear from the wind, but the papers had cause to be afraid. It wasn’t long before they were being pushed, shoved and ruffled all around by the ceaseless wind.
At least the papers were relatively safe, being bunch together for protection as they were. But Lios was unsupported by anything, and before long the wind had forcefully snatched him off the table and blew him towards the window.
The others could only look on in quiet despair and Lios began to fly out the window, but he caught the edge at the last second and stood there flapping uncertainly for a moment.
‘Hang on!’ shouted the stapler.
Lios was absolutely paralysed with shock as he held on for dear life. As he chanced a look into the study room, he once again saw his friends, those who had become books, and those who had gone on to better things. He remembered the hate he harboured, and his helplessness.
There was nothing else for him in there. His destiny simply was not meant to be found in there.
‘I…I want to go,’ said Lios quietly, before repeating himself with certainty as he shouted over the whirling wind ‘I AM GOING TO LET GO!’
‘Are you insane!’ screamed the blue pen. ‘Just don’t let go! Whatever you do, dammit, don’t let go!’
‘It’s okay,’ Lios said as tears began to well up. ‘I’m going to be alright. I just have to believe.’
The others were not even making a sound as they watched Lios flap about in twisted amusement. That was what sealed the deal in his mind.
‘Goodbye, stapler and blue pen! My real destiny awaits out there,’
With a final glance back, Lios let go, and let the wind take him far, far away.
