A dusty factory; slick machines made to decide who we are. Are we masculine or are we feminine? Are we based in a social group specifically to our own criteria? Who am I? I’m orange paperclip, and this is how I broke superlative society territory.

We all start off the same, silver metal mended into our signature shape, the “paperclip” shape, made to hold things together; molded to become useful. But what people, humans in particular, don’t know is that we live our own little world right under their promiscuous noses. Yes, me, a little paperclip has problems. And it all started three days before painting day.
I pulled myself out of box that morning to venture into the wild of creatures and jungles that we like to call paperclip society. Higher ups (the clips that already survived painting day with flying colors) were posted outside each paperclip box, to maintain the order.
“Good morning, clip 862! Make today a paper-tastic day!” One Yellow colored higher up said to me as it saw me emerge from the box.
“You too,” I murmured, fear settling into the wires of my body. My brain was already twisting in pain, and utter exhaustion, and it was only the start of my long, seemingly endless day. It was day one of paperclip testing, and honestly, I wasn’t prepared for what would become of me. Questions upon questions were all asked of us, all settling back onto the same segregated idea: self-identification. And I wasn’t absolutely, paperclip-tastically, ready to decide.
As I made my way, hopping to the tests, several higher ups clapped me on the wires with their colored sticks that we call arms. I couldn’t help but feel so misplaced in a society that was meant to feel “normal”, and “idyllic”. One specific higher up that was colored Red halted me before I entered the box labeled, “testing”.
“Hey, clip 862! Hold on a second, buddy.” He was fully holding me back now, wires positioned in front of the flap, and seriously invading my personal space.
I took a step back, and leaned on the surrounding wall of the box, waiting for him to utter his next words that I had gotten so much. ‘So,” he began “I’ve had my eye on you for quite a while now. You seem to strike ‘interesting’ among us all.” By us all he meant each color in our society: Blue, Pink, Red, Yellow, Green, and White.
I nodded along, encouraging him to keep going with his useless words. “I just want to tell you that if you need anything, absolutely anything, just ask any of us higher ups, okay?”
I nodded again, knowing the punch line was bound to be delivered. “And,” he continued, confirming my thoughts, “any of us Reds would be very…happy to mentor you. Just let me know.” And at that, he jollily hopped away, leaving me struck with boredom, restlessness, and helplessness.
Day one of testing was just an introduction day, explaining all about the tests, and how we, as a unit, will be painted in exactly three days. The tests were registered to us to figure out who we are, and it was up to us to record and keep memory of our results. The results were personal to us, making them classified information. We were the only ones allowed to view them, well us and the higher ups. But, the higher ups only viewed the tests they found interesting. However, that rarely happened, considering most clips knew where they belonged. Everyone but me.
Day one of tests ended quickly, leaving us to ponder the test of day two. I was imagining some horrific virtualization that would haunt me for life. Maybe I was overreacting, but, hey, a clip has many fears to deal with, too.
Clip number 622 was waiting outside the testing box, jumping with excitement. I guess you could say that we were friends, but the feeling wasn’t directly mutual. Clip 622 got on my nerves at times, specifically now. “So!” 622 exclaimed to me, joining me as I walked by.
“Hey, 622. How’s it going?” I wasn’t too enthusiastic.
622 jumped up and down, still too fast, happiness radiating off of its wires. “Well,” 622 began “I’m just clip-tastic! I feel hoppier than a bunny chasing after those cute little butterflies that perch on your nose whenever you see them. Ooh! That reminds me, did you see those butterflies this morning? They were swarming around my box! I think it’s because of that new box smell, considering I did some spring cleaning!” It went on, going over the top about its day.
I sighed, and tried pulling 622 back on track. I really wasn’t in that mood to hear about how 622’s day was so magically perfect. “And why are you so happy, though?” I asked, despite my needing, hungry want of solitude.
“I’m just so excited for tests! I know that I will just absolutely get yellow!” We all knew that 622’s test results were the most predictable of us all. “What do you think you will get?”
I thought about it for a moment, being pulled into a hazy funk, as my brain tried to piece together the puzzle of my personality. After a minute, I finally answered, saying with truth flowing through my words, “I really don’t know.” The admission left me breathless, and seriously wishing that there was such thing as time travel.
622 looked at me, baffled. Once it found its words it said, “How do you not know?”
I knew it was more to itself than me, and we were at my box now. I was ready to end the conversation, but out of kindness I prolonged the chat, answering his question. “In my mind it just doesn’t feel normal to be held to only one quality. Why not many?”
As soon as the words left my mouth, 622 urgently pushed me into my box, closing the flap swiftly. Once it was sure no one was around, it hissed, “You can’t speak of that!”
I chuckled, lifting myself off of the ground that had hit me hard like a bat. “I think you are crazy, 622. What in the paper are you talking about?”
“Sh!” 622 hissed once more. “I’m talking about the multiple qualities. That is forbidden!”
I matched its whisper with my own, smiling as I did so. “Forbidden, ay? I think the higher ups are feeding you a bunch of metal.”
“No! Look, here, I’ll show you.” 622 grabbed my paperclip history book from the shelf, and flipped to page 124. On page 124 was a passage stating, “All paperclip persons must be one color. Multiple colors are prohibited by paperclip law. There are no exceptions, and there will be severe consequences.”
Confusion hit me hard like an ocean wave. I was taken aback for several minutes. “What if we don’t choose one thing?” I asked my voice small like a mouse.
“Banishment, 862, banishment,” 622 whispered, causing chills to run down my wires.
We left our conversation at that. 622 left shortly after, leaving me to my thoughts that left my brain mushy like scrambled eggs.

Day 2 of testing was the first literal day of testing. We were stationed at wires width apart from one another, at individual stations, and instructed to take a test on the computers in front of us.
I obeyed simply, pushing the buttons with my wires. A test of 20 questions appeared before my eyes, and I studied the questions intently.
Question 1: What is your favorite color?
Choices: Red, Yellow, Green, Pink, Blue, or White.
As I determined my response, 622’s words echoed in my mind from the day before, “That’s forbidden!”
I pushed my indecision down my throat, and chose “Red”.
Question 2: Which of the following best describes your personality?
Choices: Passionate/angry, Lively, Earth Bound, Peppy, Calm, or Pure.
I chose the answer that was well suited to Red, “passionate/angry”, despite my heart pulling at me, digging its claws into my chest, to answer truthfully.
The other questions all followed that criterion, echoing close to the other questions. I lied on most, answering in a Red like agenda.
One question left to go, and I thought that I was in the clear. But I got my hopes up too high. A higher up appeared behind me, peering at my test from behind my rounded wires.
“Are you doing okay, 862? You seem...tense.” It was the Red higher up from the previous day.
I took a moment to reply, finding a path to go down that didn’t lead to my spotlight. “I’m doing pretty well,” I answered in the simplest way possible, leveling my voice in that way to not draw too much attention to the real feelings swelling in my face. And boy did my complexion feel hot.
“Are you? Do you even have any idea how long you have been testing? Just take a guess.” I could tell how tense he was, how focused he was on me, only me, by the sweat that coated him, the scent of eagerness that wafted off of his long wires.
“No sir,” I replied.
He took a deep breath, his wires tensing up even further as if he were recoiling. “Ten minutes.”
“Only ten minutes?” I was completely shocked.
He was searching my wires, obviously trying to decipher my cool expression, looking for some spark of indecision. Finding nothing he said, “Just take your time in testing. Choose carefully.”
I nodded in response, facing my test once more. At the conclusion of the test, I wasn’t surprised to find “Red” as my result. I had finished particularly quickly compared to other clips, taking in the fact that several noises in the background confirmed my thoughts of working. And as soon as they released us, I bounced fairly quickly back to my box, determined to be alone, closing the flap tightly, securing the rope to shut out the world. And thankfully, I was left alone that night.

Day three of testing was our final day of tests, and our most challenging. We had to complete four exams before three o’clock, which left us with four pointless hours.
We were stationed in the same area, giving me momentary relief. That is until higher ups started to appear, positioning themselves behind us. I gave a frantic look to my shoulder partner, but 861 wasn’t facing me. It was watching the round up of higher ups behind us.
That shock wave of fear pursued me even further, washing over my body, leaving me doused in trembles. A Yellow higher up positioned herself behind me when I began test number one, and I faintly recognized her to be the guard outside my box. She intently bore holes into the computer screen with her eyes as I clicked answers to appropriately correspond to something a “Red” would answer.  And as I clicked my final answer, I was relieved to find “Red” pop up.
Test number two was discussing my childhood. I answered truthfully, figuring that according to the last three tests I was minutely, and amicably normal. But as I clicked “finish” on the third test, I was shocked to find my result to be “Yellow”. The Yellow higher up appeared to have mutual feelings as she whispered to the green higher up standing next to her. She said, “Red, and then Yellow! What does that mean?”
She continued her whispering frenzy as I clicked onto the next, and final, exam. There was one question, and one question only, stating: What are you? There was a fill-in-the-blank box, leaving us with full privilege, and no boundaries to block us like a wall. I glanced around at the scenery around me: clips ranging from 850-900 were stationed at their computers, the higher ups a cluster of colors and rainbows behind them. Anger flashed from within me, boiling up hot, and I answered the one answer that I was feeling. I simply typed, “Nothing”. And hit submit. The color “White” popped up on my placid screen. My anger churned in my stomach, and turned over to fear, as if it gave up, and suddenly realized the real threat.
The Yellow higher up gasped from behind me, fear stuck to her face like glue to paper. She had one wire to her face, and one wire tapping the green higher up to examine my results. He pushed me out of the way gently, and looked over at my report.
“This can’t be possible...” he murmured. Finally recognizing the culprit, he turned to me, accusation written all over his wires, and barked, “You. You’re coming with me, hot shot.”

The questioning room was colorless, appearing to be made completely of glass. I was sitting on a smooth glass chair memoires of the day flashing in my mind like a camera flash. There were no higher ups present in the room at that specific time but one Blue higher up had told me very calmly that I was to be questioned immediately. But as time wore down I began to feel a quiver of doubt spark in the depths of my stomach.
I wasn’t questioned anywhere near “immediately”, however two higher ups appeared in front of me as if they appeared out of thin air. They both were White, which made sense considering they were “pure”. It was only right and just to have someone “pure” handling all the judiciary terms. They sat down in front of me, both their wires propped up on the smooth glass table.
“So,” White number one said. “Tell me about your tests today, kiddo.”
I didn’t reply because no words formed on my tongue, making her repeat, “Tell me about your tests today.”
I tried to hide my sudden surge of anger, and sat in silence for a few more beats before my wandering conscious finally settled on the idea that talking was beneficial.“I answered truthfully,” I say.
She chuckled, clasping her wires together. “What kind of sick joke are you playing, kiddo? I’m old but I’m not that old, sunny. Now, tell me this: why have you got three different test results?”
I shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure. I answered as truthfully as I possibly could. I was just trying to lay down my personality. Isn’t that what the tests are registered for?”
“Oh, so you answered truthfully.” She ignored my last part of my statement, that immaculate smile still plastered to her White coated wires.
I straightened up in my seat, trying to appear more falsely more confident than I really was. “Yes, I did.”
“Hmm...So how does that explain the repetitive ‘Red’ results and then the break off of ‘Yellow’ and ‘White’?” She was sure pushy.
I shook my head, as if to say that I didn’t understand. “I’m not entirely sure. I have no answer to satisfy your thirst for information. And right now, you seem very parched. So get to the point.”
White number one seemed to mull this over for a beat, and then said, “You’re an interesting clip. I’ve heard that you have had higher ups breathing down your back.”
“Yeah, we’ve heard that,” White number two echoed.
White number one glared at her companion before her gaze settled back down on me. “Well,” I began “I’ve had each color talk to me, yes. But I really wouldn’t consider it to the extremity of ‘breathing down your back’.”
“Hmm,” White number one said, considering my response. “Well, one Red higher up reports that you seemed ‘annoyed’ and ‘hostile’.”
“Well yeah,” I replied. “I was nervous for testing.”
“Why were you nervous?”
“Well aren’t we all nervous? Painting day is what defines us.” I could tell the type of game she was trying to play, trying to maneuver around my keen senses.
She considered this, and planned her next words. I could practically hear the gears of her brain turning, the sifting of papers stored in her mind. “I suppose so. But during the testing time period you seemed to finish remarkably fast. Why is that?”
I shrugged one more. “I guess the answers just flowed through my mind.” Lie number 1,277 today. Only three more till I reach the grand prize of truly becoming a sinner.
“So you’re telling me that you are completely in tune with yourself?” I nodded. “Is that why you got three different test results.”
“Yeah, is it?” White number two echoed again, gaining another glare and a flare of anger from her partner.
She was trying to catch me in a lie, awaiting the big climax, but I was too smart for that. “I’m in tune with myself enough to know that my results were inconclusive, and that my results are not normal criteria.”
“Yes,” White number two replied, even though what I had just said was a statement, and not a question. I gave her props for finally not chasing after her partner’s tail, though.
“So, what happens now?” I asked them, eager to escape their scrutinizing gazes.
White number one said, “Well, since you swear up and down that what you did wasn’t a joke, and purely accidental, we have no choice but to release you. However, we have to hold you accountable for one thing.”
“And what may you ask of me?”
“When you walk through a paint mist tomorrow, you must choose one color and one color only. And you must never speak of our three results today. Never.” She was completely serious, making me wonder what was going on through her head. How could she believe such bogus material?
I nodded to her, signifying that I understood. They released me soon after, and I was relieved to feel free and not in shackled made to restrain me. I only felt this for a moment due to the sight of 622 bouncing happily in my direction.
“Oh my paper! What have you gotten yourself bended to today?” 622 pestered bouncing back and forth in front of my path.
I halted abruptly before I crashed into it. “Nothing, 622. Just a malfunction with the test.”
“Oh really?! Good! Everyone thought you went astray from the society. But I knew better. I’ll set everyone’s mind at ease, too, if you’d like.”
These were the moments that I treasured having 622 as a companion. “Sure, 622. That’d be great. I’m going to get some rest now, buddy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Before I enabled myself to leave, 622 stopped me en route to my box. “Remember, 862, choose wisely but also...choose with your heart. Actions speak louder than words.” It left me at that, confused and replaying those words in my mind.
While in my box that night, I devoured the history books, attempting to find a loophole in the policy of painting day. After three hours of endless skimming, a loophole finally revealed itself. In the last section of a boring informational read on the criteria and regulations of painting day, I found how painting day was originally never a law. They simply amended it to our laws for no specific reason. If I could just do something significant enough, I could get their attentions. I could then explain to them why it would be more efficient for us to not have that regulation, but what could I possibly do? The answer flipped in my mind, the dark suddenly turning light.

The thoughts of what I was planning to do circled through my mind like an airplane. My nerves were shot entirely, feeling like I had a shortage in the central power system of my body. And as I stood at the painting ceremony that morning, I couldn’t stop trembling. We were in line behind the painting machines, and there were several higher ups sitting in chairs to watch us emerge. I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I glanced in the direction it came from. 622 was standing two rows away from me, waving ecstatically. It mouthed to me, “Remember what I said yesterday!” as its number was called. I saw 622 stand gallantly, and stride forward to the front of the room. 622 chose its color as if it were nothing, and emerged on the other side through the green mist. I gasped, as did others that knew 622 personally. A voice came over the intercom, offering, and “Clip 622-Green.”
Others were called, and their names and color of choice were projected to us, until finally it was my time to choose. “Clip 862, step up please, and claim your destiny.” If it wasn’t for the seriousness in the tone of the speaker, I would’ve laughed. All eyes turned to me as I pushed through the crowd of clips. I finally stood at the chambers of mist, after what seemed like a workout. I was given time to decide, but only a few minutes. 622’s words from the day before surfaced in my mind as I stepped through a mist: “Actions speak louder than words.” I emerged, awaiting the intercom. “Clip 862-Red.” The Red higher ups cheered but their cheers soon turned to raging gasps as I stepped through the white mist, coating myself in a pink-like color. Finally I sifted through the yellow must. Everyone was staring, open mouthed, and wide-eyed at my hasty advancement. I stood proud and tall until some of the higher ups appeared to take me into custody, I straightened up, puffing out my chest. Two higher ups grabbed my once damp wires, and pulled me backwards. I kept my ground for as I could, finally saying, “Stop.” My voice volume was louder than I had intended. That only made them pull harder, forcing me to obey. This time I meant for my voice to be loud as I said, “Stop!” Everything came to an abrupt halt; the chatter, the forceful aggression. Everything was completely silent. “I have a right to speak,” I said quietly.
“According to whom?” the higher up to the right of me hissed, loud enough that it echoed slightly.
Someone stood from their chair in the green section, saying, “Let 862 speak!” It was 622 who played in my favor.
The room busted up like a flame with chatter, everyone’s voices clustering together. “Stop!” I screamed one more, breaking free of my restraint. “Is this how we function as a society?” Everyone grew silent, allowing me to continue. “Why are we so set on colors? Why do our colors define who we are? Why can’t we choose a color without automatically being segregated? I mean, we are acting like a lousy society! Anybody can be whomever they want, without choosing anything specific. Take clip 622 for example. I know that he has some Yellow in him, yet he chose Green. Why do we need to belong somewhere? Why are we so set on the idyllic idea that life will not function without segregation? Why are we so entitled to that fictitious fear? What are we so afraid of? Innovation? Invention? Change? We won’t know what change is like unless we decided to hear it out, to give it a simple chance!” I paused, letting my words dive and sink into clip’s minds. “Today I made a new color. I am going to call it orange, because that is what I am. Can’t we all make our own colors? Can’t we all choose without those virtualization of personality decoders? How many of you, and be honest, answered some questions untruthfully during exams?” I watched as one, two, three, four, five, and more wires were raised after only two short seconds of me not speaking. “Higher ups,” I continued “take a look around you. Look at how many lie! Now I want you to look at yourself, to remember the day that you were in our positions, to reach deep down and remember the day you took those tests. Did you lie? Be honest with me, and with yourselves. You owe us that.” Several higher ups raised their wires. “Now everyone look around you. Almost all of our society has tried to fit into one callous category. We lose ourselves in that process. Why do we paint, and repaint ourselves for the liking of others? What do we have to prove to one another? What? That we are similar? That we are ‘normal’? How is forming yourself, compacting yourself into one simple category ‘normal’? Just tell me that, and I’ll stop speaking!” I looked around, eyes ablaze, awaiting for someone to dare to utter an explanation. When no one spoke, I said, “See! That’s what I mean! No one has a thought of how this is normal. Because it isn’t. This is so far from normal that it’s...it’s alien. What we are doing is practically murder. We’re killing ourselves, making ourselves only a half, and not a whole. Why do we murder a vital portion of ourselves? Think of it like having an injury. Yes, you can still live...but not to the best of your abilities. I want to live my life to the best of its ability. And so should all of you. Why stay like this when there is something benevolently better for us? Why live like this!?” I paused for effect. “Whether or not you all agree is not my priority, and doesn’t matter to me because I refuse to be segregated. You don’t have to banish me because I...well I already banish myself.” I faced my captors abruptly, and asked, “Will you two show me to the door? I’m done here.” They nodded in response, leading me out the back entrance, and into the desolate street.
“If you take Clipper Street for a mile, and turn left onto Paper Avenue, you’ll reach the end of our town about a mile from where you turn.” The Pink higher up said to me as she pointed the directions.
I nodded in response, turning to head in the direction of Clipper Street. She touched my wire suddenly, making me turn around. “Yes?” I said, confusion entwined with my need to leave.
“Orange, huh? Well, Orange, that was really something today. Be careful out there, ya hear?” She said sweetly.
“Sure,” I said. “Sure.” She turned with her Blue companion, and headed back to the ceremony.

Leaving Clip Society was hard. But after a few weeks of being away, I finally came to terms with the idea of being free. It was a strange feeling at first, but soon became one that I was happily accustomed to. I enjoyed finally getting to be myself with no boundaries to hold me down, no ropes to restrain me for striving for something more.
I lived a few miles East of town, settling into an old Chinese food box. I lived by myself, and rarely had any visitors. Which was why it was strange to suddenly have a few taps on the chinese food box flap. I pulled myself off of my Soy Sauce packet bed, and opened the flap. Two clips were standing by my box; one Green, and one Pink.
I stepped outside into the warm day, smiling at them both. I looked at the Green one and said, “Well, my oh my. How are you holding up, 622?”
622 embraced me, our wires clattering. “I’m doing great. 477 here showed me where to find you. She said you’d be around here somewhere.”
I glanced at the Pink clip, faintly recognizing her to be the higher up that gave me directions the day I left. I nodded at her briefly. “So, what are you doing here?”
“Well,” he began “I have some news for you! I was going to tell you a couple of weeks ago, but I thought you’d be busy, and I wanted to wait until it was finalized because what if it failed so-”
I cut him off with my hand, saying, “Just get to the point.”
He blushed momentarily. “Well, um, we have made some changes to our painting day regulations. Thanks to you!”
I chewed my upper wire. “Oh yeah? And what may that be? Also, what do you mean by ‘thanks to you’?”
“To answer your first question: there are no more tests, and we get to choose our colors. There is no more segregation, too,” 477 said.
“And,” 622 added on, “we’ve added ‘orange’ to the mists. Thanks to your wonderful speech, we now have ‘freedom to choose’ in our regulations. Personality is now not determined by our choice of color, but what is from within.”
I was taken aback with awe. “I did that?”
They nodded at me. “Wow...I really did something.”
We stood in silence for a few more minutes, and I knew that they were letting me have time to grasp, and soak in this new development. “Okay,” I said voice shaky.
“We also want to invite you back to town. All of the clips that already chose colors are repainting today, with no tests. We want you to announce everything. We want you to lead it, to host it. It’s your choice if you want to stay after the ceremony. We really would like you to, but like I said, it’s your choice,” 477 said, getting all of those words out in a rush. She shifted her pink wires from side to side.
I mulled the idea over and finally landed on the idea of agreeing. “I’d love to,” I said.

After that, we had headed to town, and participated in the ceremony. Most clips had changed or made their own colors, making the ceremony memorable and beautiful. Everyone got a choice, and it was all thanks to me. That’s a really great feeling; to know that you changed something. And when people ask me who I am, I don’t have to know. The answer just rolls off my tongue as if I had been saying it forever, and I was in my own silent way. “I’m whoever I want to be,” I say.

     THE END