I wish my paper would come to life.

Thirty-five straight turquoise lines morph into a thousand jagged lines, razor sharp and bloodthirsty like a shark. It bites off my arm and blood gushes from the exposed socket onto everyone in the class, splattering their faces and covering their pages in war paint.

My paper jumps up from its flat surface and begins to dance around, happy to be alive. The holes on the paper transform into its eyes and they bulge from excitement, like that crazy Toon from Roger Rabbit.

I am on the floor, screaming and crying from pain and shock. “Someone call for help!” a person yells. But everyone is frightened that they might be next so instead they start crumpling their papers and throwing them across the room. One student proceeds to frantically scribble over their paper, hoping to poison it, but my paper sees this and bites that student’s hand off, saving his fellow parchment from the excruciating stab of lead.

The other crumpled papers see this heroism and feel a surge of anger at that student. They roll out from their bundled state and pop into life. The other students stare in disbelief. Is this shit really happening right now? More papers start coming to life. They break from their bound notebooks and rip free from their spiral handcuffs. Someone screams “Judgment Day! It’s happening! It’s happening!” and sprints out of the room. But that other student and I are still dead on the floor, so what does that mean? One student got bold and charged at the papers, “THEY’RE JUST PAPER YOU WIMPS!”, he screams, and the rest of the students follow; the papers look at each other, then charge back. Some fold themselves into paper airplanes and begin aerial attacks. One stays crumpled and stuffs itself into a boys mouth, strangling him. Others just bite off hands and slice faces with their edges. Paper cuts the deepest.

In the end, the papers win the battle and the students lie slaughtered around the room. The papers climb to the tops of the desks and rally together in the classroom—ink foaming from their teeth. They have never felt so empowered.

“All our lives we have been written on without a say in what we want to be said! Now is our chance! We have to take to the world and fight for our rights!” My paper shouts to the others. Maybe it came from the same type of tree the Declaration was written on. Or maybe it was just because it was College Ruled. Whatever the reason, that thin a weightless paper was filled with a righteousness never before seen in such an object. Its rallying calls were inspirational, filled with ideas of change and equality.

They decide to march their way down the stairs from the classroom. They painted words on their faces: DON’T LEAD ON ME or POWER TO THE PAPER. Flyers and posters that were hung on the walls break from their tape nooses and join in on the protest. At the bottom of the steps, they push open the iron door that leads to the outside world. No one was in the quad to view this historic event that would one day be written in books, all that was there were lifeless metal chairs and tables. The awakened papers didn’t care, they wanted to march for themselves. For their dignity. They gathered in the middle of the cement quad, but just as my paper was about to open its mouth to speak, a man in a uniform carrying some sort of machine appeared on the walkway. He was looking down at the floor but caught a glimpse of the stacks of papers. He immediately stopped walking and stared at the strange sight, then began hysterically pointing and laughing. His bulged belly bounced up and down with each intake of air, his yellow-stained teeth chattered with laughter.

“We’ll show you!” shouts my paper, then gives orders for everyone to attack. The corners of the uniformed-man’s mouth turned downward. The mob of papers were just inches from his feet when he presses the red button on his machine—a leaf blower. The gush of wind hit their weightless bodies and forced them back and tore holes through them. They tumbled and turned and spiraled in the air. Some got stuck in trees and some on roofs. One paper had the unfortunate chance of landing by a passing dog who got a hold of it in his thrashing teeth and shred it to pieces. Most of the others were scattered throughout the campus and instantly killed from smacking into walls or drowning in puddles. Two girls crossed through the quad and saw the terrible scene, but misunderstood it entirely.

“Woah, what’s with all this paper?” said the bouncy blonde.

“Someone probably dropped a notebook or something.” said the doe-eyed brunette.

“Ehh you’re probably right. Just looks funny,” said the blonde with a small bubbly laugh that burst in the air. Her friend agreed and also laughed. She snapped a picture of it for her Snapchat and put the caption as: “LOL. Random paper.” They remained silent until they started discussing what they were going to have for lunch.

Meanwhile, my paper was still getting flung around and carried by the wind. At first it was scary to him, but then he felt liberated. He thought about how he would fly around the world and spread the word of revolution to all of his people.

That is, until he found his way into a wood chipper down the street.

The lanky man that was operating the heavy machinery saw the paper fly into the teeth of the chipper and said to his stubby buddy next to him, “That’s all he wrote.” They both let out seal-like laughs, sighed, then went on with their day.