Its dark. It often is, but its peaceful in a nice quiet way. Just remaining in place, surrounded by shelves of other important and less important things and foods just waiting to be used for their greater purposes.

Theres sounds outside, birds perhaps. Fluttering far above in the sky. Perhaps I shall go there if a strong breeze wishes it so. Purhaps I will become too laden with my task to even dream of such a thing.

Its light now. Sudden and blinding, if I had eyes. Instead it is but a sense, a knowledge infused, lightening the bright white pure cleanliness off my sheets.

Will it be today that I shall have knowledge that my goals have been fufilled?

Perhaps not. The darkness encloses once more. Something taken from shelves beside me, or perhaps just loaned. With great stories to tell from its adventure. Or maybe silence. Not all like to talk, reminiscence, explain.

There is light again. Movement. Picked up, placed down.

It is outside, there are cicadas chirping, the sunlight bright and heated. A quick spray of cleaning liquid onto a table, outside thrumming with summer energy and excitement. Its not often the humans are here.

It is time.

A sheet selected, folded over in half, and with the sound of crashing waves faint as background noise the paper towel sweeps across the table. Is that tomato sauce from a tasty french fry that fell before it could be sampled? And perhaps a little spot of bird poop from the skies up above.

Dirt and memories sweep from the table, creating cleanliness, a fresh start. The paper towel gets it all, ripping only slightly in the center where a wooden splinter caught it.

I have done my job now. The paper towel knows.

It sinks into its new home, filled with wood and kindle. Ablaze it knows no longer as its last moments provide warmth and light to those it once helped cleanse.

It has done well. And its breathern shall also.