It's really a war out in the world! I just saw my best friend the notecard get shredded apart by that terrible machine. What did we do to deserve such crazy treatment? We're innocent creatures. And it's not like we exactly have a getaway plan. Not having legs will do that to you.
Our stack of paper sits on the front desk of Mr. Mullbery's fourth grade class. I am the top sheet of this stack of spelling tests. We've been graded and now we're in the place where a billion of our relatives have been: in line to go to our shredded death. I can feel the other sheets trembling under me. We don't know when it will happen. The crazy man loves doing this to us. He doesn't think we feel the pain. He doesn't know how it feels to see a family member shredded apart from under him.
Suddenly, I feel a hand wrap around all of my friends and I.
We are put into a folder as we hear the words, "save for parent-teacher conferences all year."
Being saved felt great, even if it meant being handled by the hands of parents from now until the end of the year.
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