Creative Write- Point of View from A Stack of Paper Headed For the Shredder

I knew it was only a matter of moments before life would end. My pile was getting higher and higher as each statement was crossed off the accountants list. I could even see the shredder by now; it was patiently waiting for me with its sly grin. It's barbaric mouth waiting to devour me like a starving tiger in the hot arid desert. It's buttons were flashing indicating that my slaughtering was slowing approaching.

My last moments were as dull as a black and white TV screen. I longed to be the piece of paper that would be mounted onto a wall because of its significance. I too, wished to be remembered and be a part of history like the Bill of Rights. Above all, why was I not printed in color? My life had started with a dull hint of brown from the tree trunk and then into a blinding white shade. My entire life as I knew it had no purpose. I was just another piece of paper for people to scribble on. After my long voyage from the beautiful forest, I had a matter of seconds left. I was in the hands of the accountant and heading head first into the dreaded cube of death.