The Paper Person

 "The man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who can't read" - Mark Twain

★☆★ SCHOLASTIC WRITING GOLD KEY AND AMERICAN VOICES NOMINEE 2024★☆★

The Paper Person

“The Paper Person” is a fantasy story that follows the adventures of a curious creature made of paper who wanders alone in the forest. The Paper Person spends their days collecting paper in the forest, sticking them on themselves, and absorbing the words and pictures on the paper. Their thoughts, memories, and opinions are the convergence of all the papers they collect. One night, a relentless storm sweeps through the forest. Hungry for more knowledge and answers to their burning questions, they grab an ember from a forest fire, mistaking it for paper, and nearly all of their paper is burned to ashes. Desperate and miserable, the Paper Person is on the brink of giving up. Later, a spark of hope ignites within them, inspiring them to carry on, writing and creating their own stories.

The crescent moon shone a special kind of blue, not sky blue, sea blue, or baby blue, but rather a ghastly… laser blue. The strange, paper creature sitting on the rocks knew about that particular shade because of a sci-fi comic page they had found in a log. They wondered if, on another night, the moon would shine red like the honeycrisp apples they read about on a farmer’s market flier.

A sudden gust of wind hit the Paper Person and they reached out, scrambling to hold onto the scraps of paper that slipped free of their skin. 


They watched as the apple poster was whipped out of reach 

and blown to the 

right. 


At the same time, a thin, pink notebook of unicorn doodles 

and rainbow stickers flew to the 

left. 


The Paper Person looked back and forth between both of them frantically. They abandoned the flier and ran towards the pink notebook, grasping at it, the tips of their fingers grazing the ends of the paper. Somehow, it slipped through the Paper Person’s fingers and disappeared into the trees. They dashed towards the forest, hunting around, looking for the notebook.

As a light rain fell, the Paper Person’s back became wet. They retreated behind a slab of cool stone. They couldn’t bear for more papers to be ruined. The Paper Person felt as the older papers underneath their paper skin became    d a m p   . They shivered as the clouds glided over the moon. The last ray of laser blue disappeared, and a sinister darkness fell over the trees. 

The Paper Person realized that they didn’t feel the joy that a child would have doodling unicorns, realized they didn’t remember what child doodles looked like, or even what child doodles were… and at last, all they felt was an         empty space where the notebook used to be, begging to be filled.

A few drops of water leaked through the stone and onto the Paper Person’s hunched back. They felt the coldness hit the marker scribbles of a cat. As the ink became wet, the lines blurred and bled into each other, until the cat dissolved into a messssyzsy blbob. The Paper Person tried hard to recall what the drawing was of, but nothing came to mind. The notebook, whatever it was again, and the drawing were both gone. The Paper Person let out an empty sigh into the hollow wind. 

With an ominous creak, a tree, somewhere far away, cracked and fell to the ground with a heavy thud. The Paper Person felt a stab of panic. What would have happened if the winds blew harder? If shelter wasn’t nearby? What if I had lost more than a few scraps of paper? What if I had lost all the diaries and journals? What would become of me? the Paper Person asked themselves.  



The Paper Person shuffled through the fall leaves and crunchy pine cones on the dark forest floor, feeling for any smooth, flat objects that could be paper. Soon enough, they came upon 


a little 

     bundle of papers. 


The Paper Person sat in the morning darkness, holding them. They tried to read the words, squinting at the blurry letters, but the tall trees blocked every ray of sun peeking out from the horizon. Rise more, sun, please! they thought, restlessly. The Paper Person tried, not the first time, feeling for the indents of where the pen had left ink, but all they felt was the same, flat, infuriating paper. Who knows what could be there? What if it’s the last page of that weird alien book? Or… what if it’s the solution to that math problem? they thought, fantasizing about all the possibilities. 


They waited, 

       waited,

  waited


until finally the sun rose above the trees and shed a beautiful light on the papers. Now, the Paper Person saw the words and colorful pictures clearly:

“...little Tommy on the beach seeing…

shiny seashells, SUPER

wild waves, WOW

dry driftwood, DELIGHTFUL

little Tommy in the campgrounds seeing…

tall trees, TERRIFIC

cracking campfires, COOL

brown bears, BRAVO”


The Paper Person gazed at the vibrant cartoon illustrations: a spiral seashell laying on the beach on one page and a bear surrounded by looming pine trees on another. They stuck the thin picture book onto their back and let the words and pictures flow in, feeling relieved to not wait restlessly in the darkness any longer, but also disappointed that the paper wasn’t anything more exciting. The Paper Person looked up at the bright, sun-lit sky. Stunning sun, SUPER, thought the Paper Person.


A swirl of white caught the Paper Person’s attention. Suddenly, the Paper Person was running, tumbling through branches and stumbling over rocks. Perhaps it’s the thing I lost last night… they thought. They grabbed the paper. It appeared to be two, stapled together. Double the stuff, not one but two! the Paper Person thought, excited. One was a sheet of lined paper with a sentence starter and barely legible child handwriting continuing it:

“Art Reflection Worksheet

My art piece is about… A sNOe BaRE in A vAree sNoey sNoe stOrm.

I like it because… it LuKs gOOd aNd iT wuS gOOD to drAw.”

A kindergartener probably wrote this, the Paper Person thought, chuckling about the spelling. Even I know better than that! They flipped the paper to look at the art piece on the second page. They didn’t see anything. It was a blank sheet of paper. There was nothing on it. No words, no drawings, just a white plain paper, PAH. The Paper Person felt unsatisfied, as if something should be there, like the Tommy picture book. But it wasn’t. Where is the snow bear in the very snowy snow storm? I don’t see it! Maybe there’s something I’m missing. But… it’s just a kindergartener’s… or is it? thought the Paper Person, remembering an article they had read about linguists. Maybe it’s a special, ancient written dialect! Maybe I don’t have the knowledge to understand this strange, advanced piece of art yet, thought the Paper Person, at a loss. I guess I don’t know better than that. 

The Paper Person stood amongst the trees with the paper in hand. They looked down at it, not knowing what to do. Maybe I’ll get it someday… the Paper Person thought, finally deciding to stick it on their foot. The paper crackled and the flurry of Art Reflection Worksheet words flowed in, followed by a weird sensation. Something new was in the Paper Person’s knowledge, but the thing was nothing. The something was nothing. Is it really nothing, or something I don’t understand? 

The Paper Person reached down and peeled a small corner of the artwork off their foot, considering ripping the entire paper off and getting rid of the uncomfortable uncertainty. The Paper Person paused, and let go of the paper, leaving it to dangle for a moment. 

Then they patted it down, sticking it back firmly onto their foot.



The Paper Person wandered through the forest aimlessly and 


watched the tall trees, TERRIFIC, sway peacefully with the breeze, 

watched the lush leaves, LOVELY, rustle on the soft, damp dirt, 

watched the chubby chipmunks, CUTE, scurry up the trunks of huge pines.


They listened to the faraway babbles of townspeople, wondering what they were conversing about, if they had something important to do all day, and what it was. The Paper Person looked down at the forest dirt, and kicked a pinecone, watching as it tumbled and stumbled on the ground, coming to a stop. What if it never stopped? the Paper Person suddenly wondered. What if the pinecone kept rolling around, forever? Not doing anything useful and not making any new progress, but still existing and rolling around? They shook their head, trying to clear up their thoughts, searching their mind for useful papers, sifting past love stories, restaurant recipes, and countless other things. Nothing would answer their question. 


I’ll check the river sewer for more papers, thought the Paper Person after another scan of the forest, only to find a few, disappointing plastic bags. They made their way past the big boulders, BEAUTIFUL, and along the rusty metal fence dividing the wilderness and the neat house lawns. Soon, they heard the faint babbling of the river. The Paper Person walked towards the riverbank, their sight glued to the slightly soggy lump of litter trapped in the musty sewer grate among the dark, brown-ish foam. They saw something move


                                                          beneath the water, 

a sliver of white fins. 


It’s a… fast fish, FANTASTIC! the Paper Person thought excitedly, remembering an article they had read about fish in a science journal titled “A Case Study: Assessing the Effect of Human Activity on Fish Diversity in River Systems”. They looked at their left foot to see the science journal’s glossy cover with a close-up shot of a fish face. Glancing at the plastic bottles and various other trash, the Paper Person thought Probably a negative effect! 

The Paper Person bent down onto the slippery rocks, and leaned precariously over the water, reaching out their hand towards the soggy papers. A wave broke over the riverbank and onto the Paper Person’s feet, snatching off some papers, including the science journal. Panic seized the Paper Person and they cried out in despair, watching as the paper sank into the depths of the river. They saw in horror and felt as the information in their mind disappeared, leaving a horrible, empty space. I need more paper!! they thought, lunging out and grabbing the damp handful of stuff sticking out of the river grate then swinging back onto the dry, safe riverbank. 

The Paper Person gazed at their foot, which was now a journal thinner. They felt a stab of loss and looked into the deep waters for the journal. It was gone. All they saw was the thing again, moving around in the water. Oh! It’s the… the… what was it again? I knew what it was a minute ago! thought the Paper Person in distress, straining their mind. The Paper Person stomped on the ground, 

screaming 

     silently.



Holding the newly harvested papers, they separated and laid them out on the rocks. Many were much too wet and smuuuuuuuuuudged and rip-  ped 

apa- -tottot rea- -ropeeerrrrtly

But luckily, a few were dry enough to make out most of the words:

“Perputu-  ++--=-+-_tion_Machines and the re==+lity-offff Science

The..fFrisist’L--_w of Therrmorody– states_that energyycan neiiitthre\be cr—ted nor d—-s-tr-d,,,so–__=-=--__+--_-= would be impos-

The Paper Person held the paper up to the sun, shaking it, but the rest of the words were illegible. They thought back to the forever rolling pinecone and looked at the paper and the frustrating, mushy words that could have answered the question of whether the pinecone could have kept rolling forever if they had just been a bit clearer. 



It was another moonless night, where the clouds masked every small sliver of moonlight. On these nights, the Paper Person always felt gloomy. The moon was the only way for the Paper Person to read at night. It was the light illuminating the papers that gave answers to their questions. That night, there was none of that. As the Paper Person sat under a huge oak tree, the clouds stirred above, drowning the stars in darkness. They sighed and sat with paper in hand. A light rain fell, a soft pitter patter on leaves. It would be a long, dark night. 


Suddenly, a massive slice of lightning 

c

    u

          t

 through the sky in a jagged motion, flashing up the trees and illuminating them in a white-blue glare. The intense light blinded the Paper Person. Their vision wiggled and colorful bubbles flashed around. At the same time, a monstrous


  CLAP


 of thunder echoed through the forest. The Paper Person’s vision was still muddy, but they could still see the faint light coming from across the forest. It wasn’t the soft glow of the moon, or the sharp, sudden flash of lightning, but rather a hungry, constant light. It wasn’t white-blue, but red-orange. The Paper Person knew what it was:

      fire


They hadn’t ever seen fire before, only read of it in fairytales. The Paper Person knew the dangers, but even without the details, which they could not see, the hues of the light were lovely. With it, they could faintly see the white edges of the paper in their hand. They snatched a huge leaf from nearby, holding it cautiously above their head. Drops of water slid off the Paper Person’s umbrella leaf, preventing the rain from hitting them. The Paper Person ran towards the light. The closer to it, the brighter everything became, the faster the Paper Person ran, until… they were standing before it: the skeleton of an unfortunate tree. They stood for a moment, transfixed, as the flames licked up the branches, and the blackened tree crumbled. The red pulsed in the Paper Person’s wobbly vision.

They looked down to the piece of paper in their hand, which they were holding so tightly that the edges had ripped. The Paper Person rubbed their eyes and squinted, attempting to read the scribbly handwriting under the light of the fire:


“Hi Dorothy, I know you recently made the no snow ball rule, but now the kids are throwing pine cones at each other during recess. A girl got hit in the eye-”


More about pine cones! the Paper Person thought triumphantly, sticking the note on their hand. And I hope that girl is okay… but PINE CONES! Pine cones… the Paper Person thought, beginning to process the note’s meaning. 

The winds picked up and the pitter patter became a cacophony. The air around the Paper Person tremored, and they shrank closer to the trunk of a tree. Fiery sparks swirled about angrily. The Paper Person was reminded suddenly of an article they had about tornado safety:

“…make way to a windowless room on the lowest floor of a sturdy building. If you’ve been injured, immediately call an emergency phone line and trained professionals will arrive to assist you.”


The Paper Person was alone. There was no one to help.


Amidst it all, the Paper Person faintly saw something 


white 


floating in the air. The rain, clouds, rumbling, and fire seemed to disappear as they watched it 

s

      w

 i

      r

        l.

 PAPER! they thought, reaching to grab it. More about pine cones! More about EVERYTHING! But a possibility held them back. They closed their eyes momentarily and widened them again, squinting at the speck. It was still blurry. It could be an ember; it could be fire. It could burn all the knowledge right out of me. The Paper Person shook their head. They could no longer stop to think without more information, and mere thought of losing everything sent the Paper Person lunging towards the piece. If I’m burnt, I’m burnt! But the knowledge… ! The piece spiraled in the air and the Paper Person snatched it desperately. 

They were met by a 

fearsome roar. 


The fire was upon them.


It was an ember. 


The inferno raced up the Paper Person’s arm mercilessly. They stood in despair as the precious papers and knowledge burnt to ashes. The fire seared their skin and bolts of pain shot up their limbs. It can’t really be happening. It can’t really be…. happe-. The edges of the Paper Person’s mind, the floating planet of words and pictures, crumbled off and fell into the void.


They almost slipped, almost fell into 

nothingness. 


Everything was a panic, the Paper Person was running, no, crawling, perhaps floating, through trees, or maybe it was fire, towards the river, where water was gushing out of the rusty rivergrate furiously. 

The Paper Person launched themselves in, and as their paper skin met with the cool surface, water droplets scattered away like pigeons fleeing from a gunshot. 


The pain ceased.


The information stopped floating away but… their thoughts became… muddled… ink, mushing into other words, ytheyveing benign mssedds upp? The floating planet of knowledge under the Paper Person shook. They pulled themselves out of the river, and onto the dry, quiet, riverbank.


 Everything was silent, peaceful, and dark. 


Almost everything was gone. 


All that was left was a tiny planet of 


knowledge 


hovering in the surrounding nothingness. The Paper Person was on the planet, balancing so precariously that even a small gust of wind could’ve easily 

knocked 

them 

        off. 

 The Paper Person could’ve simply stepped in any direction and fallen right into the nothingness. They knew they’d lost so much, that the papers were gone. The Paper Person extended their foot over the nothingness. 


But then they pulled back. 



The rain poured. 

The fire died. 

The clouds melted.

The stars sparkled.



The Paper Person spotted a blackened twig, burned into charcoal.

 A thought slowly arose. 

The Paper Person reached to peel off a paper from their neck: the drawing of the polar bear in a snowstorm. 

It isn’t nothing. I understand now: it’s a blank canvas, an empty page, a new beginning.


They patted the paper down onto the forest floor and stood weakly, holding the twig. The Paper Person brought its black tip down towards the white, blank paper, trembling. The Paper Person slowly traced the tip on the paper, leaving a glorious, black line.


“Once upon a time… ”


…the Paper Person wrote.


“a child planted a pinecone in the forest.

The raindrops fell on it, the sun shone on it, the winds blew on it.

One day, a little sprout poked out from the dirt.

It grew, and grew, and grew, until it was no longer a sprout.


It was a tree,”


The Paper Person looked up to see a bright, laser blue moon.


Something floated up from the nothingness to rest beside the tiny planet of knowledge: 

it was a small, but

noticeable collection of words,

onto which the 

Paper

Person

stepped



 "Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find" - William Shakespeare

 "Books: Food for the brain" - Anonymous

 "Books are a uniquely portable magic" - Stephen King

 "Books break the shackles of time, proof that humans can work magic" 

-Carl Sagan

 "A book is a dream you hold in your hands" - Neil Gaiman

 "Take a good book to bed with you - books do not snore" - Thea Dorn

 "She reads books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live" - Annie Dillard

 "There is only one thing that can replace a book: the next book" 

-Piotr Kowalezyk

 "Book [buk] noun: a cozy doorway to paradise" - Anonymous