She imagined it was like Jacob Marley’s chains; wagon-loads of paper spilling out behind her. All the paper she had amassed in life; the burden she would bear after death.
Book pages, exam questions, note books, journal entries, half-done crossword puzzles.
Brochures, pamphlets, maps, travel books, tickets stubs, B & B lists, directions, boarding passes.
Cash register receipts, leases, menus, shopping lists, phone messages, doodles, cards, addresses
Emails, print outs, spread sheets, urls, passwords, user IDs, graphics, prompts, likes, blogs.
Reports, budgets, projects, estimates, reports, graphs, charts, presentations, business cards.
Bills, donation receipts, income tax forms, charitable requests, junk mail, magazines, calendars.
“I must get a shredder and a curbside recycle bin,” she thought. “Before my wagon train is just too heavy to pull. Jacob, you have my sympathies, but my paper train won’t be going over to the other side.”