Trent was a staple.

Back in days of ore, he used to wonder what he’d grow up to be.  Chet wanted to be a skyscraper.  Trevor wanted to be a ship.  Max just knew was going to be a guitar pickup.  They left the mine with dreams of height, strength, and sound.

Trent was a staple.

But he was ready, which is a staple of being a staple.  From plant to packaging, he prepared: told himself “I’m going to be the best staple in the world.”

Today was his day.  At 6:13 AM, a consultant at the Angell Hall Computing Site moved him and his company into the black Swingline by the printers.  He gasped “Do you think we’re going to be used today?”  Pat responded “I think so.  I hope so,” before gushing

“Oh my God! I just don’t know!”  

At 7:06, the printers began to wrrrrr.

Jeff went first.  With a salute, he dug his talons into the 3 page essay about Nabokov hating children.

Next was Chad who went six pages deep in the assignment on the vowels of the Rosetta Stone.

George and Luke went together.  A hesitating freshman broke George’s leg, and affixed Luke as a reserve.  George was grateful for a companion in his time of pain.

Rich, Mike, Joe, Bill all went, gleaming in the fluorescent light as they were carried away.

And Trent was next.

Trent was a staple.

“I’m scared, Pat.  This is it.  This is everything,” Trent beamed.

“Goodbye and good luck, Trent.  I hope we’ll meet again in a stack of essays.”

“Or med school applications.  I’ve always wanted to go to med school!”

Trent was a staple.  

His fate was an essay on hope, 30 pages, double-spaced.  

“This can’t be right.”  He murmured.  “No.  This isn’t right.  My legs aren’t that long, Pat.  He’s not actually going to try this, is he?”

“I don’t- I don’t know,” Pat stumbled.

Panic rose with the stapler.  Trent was stuck.  Pat screamed at the spring, “You have to do something!”

“What do you want me to do?” recoiled the spring.  “Melt?  Snap myself?”

“You have to do something!” Thad added.

The spring held firm.  

Trent’s feet met the paper.  His legs shot sideways like a cartoon cat catching a piano, digging 4 pages deep before fracturing and falling to the side.

Pat was speechless.  He was next.

“You should have printed on both sides!” screamed Trent from the bottom of a shoe.

Three weeks later, Pat saw Trent, rusted and motionless on the sidewalk.  

A tear formed on the paper.

Trent was a staple.

Now he’s trash.  Just like you, you stupid bitch.