A swan's tale

Hello, I am an origami swan. I'd really like to introduce myself by my name, but I don't have one yet. Mabye it's because I'm so young, about two minutes old. There are other figures of origami on the desk I am. They all look good, so my creator must have some talent when it comes to this. Of course, I myself am not flawless, just like every figure. My body parts are a bit unbalanced, the edges aren't always smooth and my beak doesn't point downwards as much as it should. But I am a solid figure, both in the areas of standing and the shape of a swan. And the paper I'm made out of has a nice blue colour. So I like my outer appereance.

As it seems, I am one in a group of fortunate individuals. I'm an unharmed figure in its full shape. The figure that my creator just worked on was not good enough for him, so he just smashed it into a clump of paper and threw it into the rubbish bin next to the desk. There are a lot of other clumps of paper, so it wasn't the first and probably not the last destroyed figure. This thought horrifies me. Every figure was created in its own way. They all have a unique look, character and way of existing. And then they are just turned into a clump of paper with no art and individuality to it and become part of a collective mountain that consists out of clumps like that. I can't understand how someone could do that and I feel way more lucky to not be a part of the mountain. But simultaneously, I feel guilty because I'm not that good of a figure. So it seems really unfair to me that I was chosen over all these other figures.

Now my creator has finished another figure, it's a second swan. And what a figure it is. She has smooth edges, her body parts are balanced out well and her beak points straightly downwards and creates a beautiful triangle. Her stand is solid and even the pink of the paper seems richer than usual. The other figures are also well done and there are some little flaws to find with a close look like the point of her beak. But in a strange way, these flaws improve her outer appearance. I couldn't think of a way to create a better looking swan. My creator places her on the desk and I couldn't feel luckier.

At the same time, I feel cursed. I want to be near her, but I can't move. If I could be close to her, it would be my definition of having a great time. It would be a real dream to touch her, but I neither know if she would consent to this, nor do I want to risk ruining this beauty. And I got so much on my mind about her, but I can't talk. It would be even better than closeness if I could tell her my thoughts about this place, our creator, her beauty, my existence and get to know her thoughts. But I can't express any of that and I neither know if she thinks anything close to that about me or the world. You surely know the proverb "This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.". It not only sounds good, but it also implies a certain amount of epicness for both of these things. My thoughts are unstoppable and they are an epic instrument of being active, analyzing the world and basically creating a new universe in my head. And I may fulfill the criteria of being immovable, at least for myself, but I'm certainly not epic. I'm just a pathetic piece of paper that can't even solve a problem with a solution this easy.

At least my creator seems to share my opinion because he also gives her a satisfied look. Then he looks at me and comes to the natural conclusion that she looks better. Now, my worst nightmare becomes reality. He sorts me out. I desperately want to flee, but my body doesn't move, no matter how strong my will is. His palm feels cold. His giant fingers come closer and form a cage out of flesh around me. With an insanely painful process, it crushes my individual shape into a lifeless and ugly clump. And after that, his giant arm makes an effortless move that makes me fly and hardly land in the rubbish bin on top of all the other clumps that used to be figures.

I see their horribly mutilated bodies and can feel their pain and sadness even more now that I have shared their fate. After barely five minutes of existence, I am another lifeless clump under many others. But then I see her and it genuinely cheers me up. I can still look at her since I'm on the top of the mountain and on the edge of the rubbish bin. Her beauty is unharmed and she seems to be happy. And as long as this is the case, I will gladly accept my fate.