Paper Universe

Story Number One

It was a day like any other at the Maroon & Mustard Cafe, except... it wasn't. I was wearing my white work blouse and wine red skirt, with my matching honey yellow suspenders. My kid gloves were sitting on the counter, and it almost seemed like they were waiting for me to finish the work day that would change my life forever. Although I may sound human, I'm a unique species that lives in your notebook--seen from your point of view as a graphite sketch--called a Squiggle. We come into three-dimensional existence in an alternate world when you draw us, and pass away when we are erased. On this day, my parents were erased. As I served a tall man in a blue suit, suddenly, shrill screams echoed from outside, where my mom and dad had been standing moments ago. I dropped my plastic serving platter, and shards of ceramic mixed and swirled with black coffee in fractals as I shot out the door, a cheerful ding accompanying my hurried exit. As I rounded the corner into an alleyway beside the cafe, my heart stopped at the sight of my parents' torsos slowly disintegrating into a pile of curly pink eraser crumbs. As I stood there, awestruck, the top of my father's toupee and the bangs of my mother's mousy brown hair slowly faded into nothingness. I felt nauseous. It couldn't be true! They were gone.

I felt a lump like a horse chestnut forming in my throat. I was sad, or angry, or scared that the humans would come for me, too. As I stormed back into the shop, sparkling tears in my big, multi-hued eyes, I attracted several questioning glances, but ignored their owners, snatched my kid gloves, and stormed back out the door, triggering that bothersome ding for the fourth time that day. When I closed the saltwater pearl clasps on my gloves, my petite hands shook. For a girl of eighteen, I was drawn small yet sturdy like a pony, my dad used to say. I was so, so terrified. If I could get to the flat I shared with my boyfriend, I instinctively felt that I would be safe. I caught the tube just before it left, plopping down, trying to imagine his muscular arms gently embracing me, holding me, letting me know that everything was alright, that I was loved and protected. Soon we would sit down on the couch together and order pizza or teriyaki, watch Pacific Rim, or maybe go to bed early. But when I unlocked the door to our cozy flat, the tears streaming down my cheeks, sure, I got that hug, but I had to relive the day and the loss I felt yet again. And then, unexpectedly, Haydn lectured me.

"Elsie, I love you, but we can't just sit here," he pointed out.

"You sat down first," I retorted sharply.

"Not the point!" Haydn sighed, accentuating his slight British accent.

"So, then, what is this all-important point?"

"You can use those special powers of yours to convince the human not to erase us!"

I was stunned. I hadn't thought of that, but I was glad that I hadn't. As Haydn stroked my wavy blonde hair, from the almost white roots down to the vivid sky blue, I thought about it. I have the power to reach into the human world and speak to them, but I go into a coma in the paper world, and I can still be erased, causing me to be in that trance-like state forever. It wasn't worth it to face that, was it? Haydn thought otherwise. Staring me in the face with those big, begging stormy gray eyes, he said "You face this up and have an ounce or two of courage and dignity, or I break up with you. I know how much I mean to you. I'm the last thing you have left." I wish that he hadn't said that, but now, I had to go. Another round of suppressed tears started to give me a headache, but I managed to mumble "Fine," as I leaned back into Haydn's lap.

The next day, I stayed in bed until 40:00 o' clock. Time works a little bit differently here, so in human time, it would be about ten in the morning. As I soon noticed, Haydn was already awake, and, by the burnt, savory aroma wafting from the kitchen, I deduced that he was making breakfast in bed. As he shuffled into the room, the first thing that I noticed was how he had managed to forget his shirt, showing his handsome, toned abs, and the second was that he had made a couple fried eggs and some very dark, crumbly toast for us to share. His cooking skills were amusing, to say the least, but the gravity of the coming day allowed me only to smile weakly and pat at a spot on the mattress beside me. Before sitting down, Haydn ran a hand through his dark chocolate hair, standing it up on end like that of a windblown puppy. We each slowly enjoyed the breakfast, knowing that it could be our last meal together, then I shooed Haydn out of the room and dressed hastily into my favorite outfit: A sky blue skirt, crisp white blouse, rainbow suspenders, and my coffee stained kid gloves. When all was prepared, I lay down on the neatly folded cocoa brown paisley comforter, feeling the springy memory foam mattress mold to my curves. Then, I slowly closed my eyes, emptied my mind, and tried not to scream as a gigantic piece of legal-sized printer paper (why legal size?) rushed towards me.