• I am all plastic and ink and a teensy bit of metal.

    Today will be my last use.

    Yes, my last.

    My very, very last.

    Sadness is overflowing me.

    Much like the ink that was my life-blood.

    Being all dried up… I guess it's only natural.

    I was told and repeated that this day would come. I so many others all end up the same
    way.

    I knew... I knew and yet I have no excuse.

    I had my time and now it's over.

    I should consider myself lucky, not everyone gets out of the shop.

    Some don't even make it in the factory.

    I just didn't, couldn't, wouldn’t imagine or even fathom it being so soon.

    Maybe there's something after the garbage can, after the plastic bag, and after the garbage truck.

    Maybe it's not like everyone says it is. Maybe there is no burning, no slashing, no never-ending dump.

    Maybe the garbage truck leads to a world of paper, of joy, of pens, just like me.

    Maybe there's an afterlife!

    Or maybe it's true.

    Maybe everyone is right.

    Maybe I am doomed.

    And maybe… just perhaps there is a chance in all these chances of the day to day…

    Of this is that and what is what…

    I lead to my own destruction.