I Hate Paper

Well, they're driving me back to Primatech now. It hasn't been an enjoyable ride.

"Hey, Thompson," I said. "How about stopping for a Happy Meal?"

"I don't think so, Bennet," he replied.

I was bummed out since the beginning of the trip when I was declined a Happy Meal. I didn't know it would get worse. I didn't think it could.

"You ever wonder why scissors beats paper?" Thompson asked. He glared at me in the rear view mirror with his eyes that he uses for glaring at people.

Then, Candace, sitting in the passenger seat spoke up, "Because scissors cut paper. Just like we're going to cut you." She turned around and faced me, tied up in the backseat. Her smile showed me just how pleased she was with the imminent torture.

I spat at her. Hana would have been proud. Well, she would have been proud had my spit possessed any momentum. Instead the spittle dribbled down my chin and landed in my lap. But I think Candace got the point.

She morphified into my mother! Right in front of my eyes. I almost fell for it.

"Mom, it's you! How did you...hey wait a minute!"

"You let me die, son! And then you left me in a ditch!"

"No, Mom, the kitties killed you. But then...hey, stop it! You're not my mom!"

"How can you say that to your own mother?"

"I'm sorry, Mom."

"Just wait until your dad gets home."

"Stop this! I know it's you, Candace."

She then morphified once more. This time into Keira Knightley. My only weakness!



"Hey there," the magnificent Keira said. "Do you know where Claire is?"

"Eh, uh, brr...ka..ki...errr...gaaa....lou...co..." I replied, drooling. Though this time, I was not attempting to spit.

"Aw, it's okay. You can tell me."

"Muh...ooh..."

"Did you like me in Domino?"

"Aa...ga..."

I tried to calm myself down. I looked straight ahead, not focusing on the immense beauty in the seat ahead of me.

"Come on, paper boy. Tell me where she is."

"No! I'll never tell you," I yelled.

"We're here," Thompson said. "No more games. Now we'll find out what gives you focus."

"Huh?" I said.

"Gives you focus...you know, because of your glasses."

"No, I get it. It's just...not that good."

"See what folds your paper?"

"No."

"What adjusts your lens?"

"That's just crazy."

"What makes you tick?"

"That was for Sylar."

"I'll work on it. Don't go anywhere," Thompson said. "I just have to take care of some paper work." He left me in the car with the evil woman.

Looking out the window at Primatech Paper Company I could only think about how much I hate paper.