A Yearbook

There was nothing for him to do, but rip out every single page from his yearbook, day by day, page by page. Everyday brought a new tear, that fresh and crisp sound of old glossy paper being torn from old glued bindings. Then it was completely up to him what to do next for that day. One time he folded the paper up as tightly as it would go and stuffed it in his front right pocket and just walked around all day with that little tiny page. Sometimes things were much more drastic, maybe a dousing of kerosene and a nice miniature bonfire in the bronze fire pit out back. The only rule was that it always had to be different, so he ate a page, shredded a page by hand, shredded a page by knife, shredded a page by dog, shredded a page by shredder. Every day was a new chance to invent, to innovate a thing long past routine. High School was a blur of trying to fit in and now all he had to do was fit into his day a whole new thing. What a great way to go he would think to himself as he came nearer and nearer that inevitable end of the book. As he tore out the last page on the last day he thought to himself, maybe high school wasn’t that bad.