The paper and the paper clip we’re like chalk and cheese really. She loved words, all words, any words, happliy lying spreadeagled while they we’re dappled over her exposed body. He was hard, unforgiving, unmalleable, if he bent he broke, he didn’t much care for words, but he recognised in her the key to his existence, the answer to all his questions was not 42, but her. They hit it off straight away. Symbiotic.
They we’re a simple pair, not saying much, not really needing to. The proof of their existence, their meaning, their reason for being, was evident to all, unquestioned. Where she would go, flightly, fanciful, he would be there, binding her, keeping her grounded.
How long we’re they together, who remembers. It became so natural to us all that it was never thought about, it was like they we’re one. A relationship we could all envy.
When she was first pierced by the two sharp prongs it was like she was alive again, reborn. Piercings had become all the rage anyway, as had inflicting pain on each other. It was a new world to her.
A mechanical vampire was how the paperclip referred to him, a sick deformed psychotic pain inflicting degenerate. He pleaded with the paper, please dont go, I love you he said. Haven’t I always been there for you, steadying you, slipping off into the background when you need space, returning to hold you in my arms again and again?
She knew he had, and loved him back for it, but there was something about the wild one. What would she do? This stapler was the product of a sick generation no doubt about it. What is it about the bad guy?