the stapler and the pencil sharpener

That afternoon while Valerie was out, everything changed. Valerie had a stapler named Steve and a pencil sharpener named Percilla. They had noticed each other before, but until today had never really seen each other. And why would they? After all, they came from different worlds.

Percilla ran on electricity and was the foundation of Valerie’s creative process. Her outer shell was bright red with a sleek black base. She hummed with sweet blood-lust as she shredded pencil tips and filled herself up with wispy little curly cues. Her line of sharpener had only been in production for a year or so. She radiated modern style and utility.

Steve on the other hand was over twenty two years old. He was nothing but skeletal metal parts with rusted scratches here and there. He squeaked as he punched his myriad fangs into stacks of paper no more than six or seven sheets high.

On this particular afternoon something particularly aggressive must have been in the air. Perhaps Valerie had leaked frustration from a busy morning behind or perhaps it was the tuna and peanut butter sandwich rotting slowly in the refrigerator in the other room. In any case, both Steve and Percilla found themselves overwhelmed with destructive urges.

Percilla gnawed a series of pencils down to the eraser. She made tiny beaver Lincoln logs out of several others.

Steve made Valerie’s tax forms into a staple colony. Huge herds of piled up bits of metal clung fast to the paper wastes. In his search for more with which to feed his fangs, Steve found himself face to face with Percilla.

Percilla was choking on cheap plastic pen. Steve thought fast and clamped awkwardly onto the pen shaft. He managed somehow, after much strenuous effort, to pry it loose. Percillas motor spun waveringly as she sputtered ink down her front. This gory picture was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen. Before the meaning of the heavenly vision before him could fully sink in, Steve found himself being mounted by an overly grateful and enthusiastic Percilla. Steve squeaked in painful desperation and protest. Steve was forced to spit staples as he was crushed by a number of particularly heavy thrusts. Percillas blood lust knew no limits. At last his spine snapped leaving his massive jaws limp and crooked.

Percilla tried to comfort Steve as he lay there mute and confused. Steve wore the countenance of a decidedly deceased office appliance. Percilla overwhelmed with guilt and heartbreak cast herself off the edge of the desk and burst into pieces.

Valerie’s hands danced a strange and morbid dance that afternoon, as Valerie quietly dreamt. They performed a puppet show. It was part ballet part requiem. One hand played the part of a sharpener. The other played that of a paper fastener. They danced across the desk crunching and punching until finally they met. Their affair was brief and rapacious. There was a loud crash. And then there was silence.

Valerie awoke that night to a puzzling scene. Her stapler was floppy and busted and her pencil sharpener was lying shattered on the floor. All of her pencils had been reduced to stubs and her taxes had been rendered useless.

WTF, Valerie thought to herself. “WTF,” she echoed aloud.

“WTF indeed” added Steve.