The room was a bright white, clean and free of any infection. Many tables line it from wall to wall, all white, never a stain of color. A man stands behind one of the many tables, staring at the array of different leaves. Some bright green, others browning and crinkling at their corners. Some have holes and tears, yet they were all leaves, the original shape all the same. They began the same but all ended up here, in front of him, on the bright white table so he can observe them.

He picks each up in his white gloved hand and turns it, keen eye looking for any wear and tear. Then he places it down and makes a note on his notepad and moves on top the next. Over and over this continues until no leaves were untouched or noted. When this is done he slowly removes the soft white pair of gloves and places them on the table.

Then he leaves, the soft patting of whit loafer shoes go to the door then opens it. The hallway is the same, bright white as he begins to walk, not a soul is present. Though when he reaches the elevator it dings as it opens and he is met with another man, dressed in white much like himself. He just nods and enters the elevator, waiting to get to the ground floor.

“Leaves aye? I’m from the 6th floor” The other man says after the doors close. The sixth floor, the paper floor.

“Paper aye” Is his only response.

“I suppose” and the elevator goes silence once again.