Chapter One:

Scraps of notebook

paper

all carefully ripped

apart.

Each dainty piece,

decorating

the classroom floor

in chaotic

beauty.

"Why would,

someone

do this?"

I ask out-loud,

my sigh,

weakly

a

t

t

a

c

hed.

Such a waste.

I kneel down, hands reaching.

Random words like

jumbled thoughts

jump at me,

tossing my hands aside,

netting eyes

with curiosity.

Frequency.

Bone marrow.

Time.

Origami.

Ligaments.

Boxcutter.

Tesla.

Porcupine.

Thug.

Womb.

Paradise.

Words that don't belong

together,

yet sitting next to each-other

clustering,

random importance.

"Are you going to throw them away or not?"

Chapter Two:

I turn.

A girl stands in the classroom's

e

n

trance,

spiral notebook

in hand, jagged piece

missing

from it-missing,

a

single,

ink sheet

of paper.

"There's a trashcan right behind you.

another one beside that one,

on the opposite end of the,

room-

same

color,

same size. Yup, pretty much

a twin,

wouldn't you

say?

The contents inside, probably

the same

t

o

o.

All

the

same."

I lift up two scraps.

"What are these?"

She looks at me, emotionless.

"Expired souls, no longer of use."

Chapter Three:

Expired souls, no longer of use?

This girl's deadpan sense

of humor matched

her black hair

that adorned the

school's blue uniform

in thick contrasts, increased

by red ribbons bottling thick curls.

"Did you write all these?"

I asked, already knowing the answer,

her wounded notebook a dead giveaway.

She looked at me for a dragged moment

as if trying to find

nuanced depth in my questioning.

Then, a wry smile

pushed up

thin lips.

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't.

If I did, will you stop at just blaming me?

What about the people who made

the paper; the people who made the pens?

Perhaps we can take this a little bit further.

Could we blame the trees for providing

us with the paper?

Could we blame the squids for providing

us with the ink?

Where does the cycle of blame

begin and end?

Though dumbfounded,

I took her vague response

and matched it with a literal interpretation.

"It begins and ends with the person

who made such a mess.

Also, the ink that we use for our pens

doesn't come from squids, but chemicals."

"Tsk. Such a normal thing to say.

I bet you say a lot of normal things,

don't you?"