August Writing Challenge Week 3

Week 3

Pick an object next to you, and write down what it is  – let your stream of consciousness tell the rest of the story. Check out my sister's blog for her story!

The York Mint Patty

  A York Mint patty, creamy, delicious, and wrapped in a silver paper wrapper, sits beside me as I write.
As I enjoy the minty goodness, I toss the silver wrapper to Peaches, my kitten, and she bats it around the
floor. Anything that will keep her occupied and off my keyboard.

  Normally, I don’t think much about my candy, other than how good it tastes. But if it could talk, what would
it say?

  Hi, my name is Yorkie. I was made in a factory with thousands of others just like me. I have one goal in
life - to be thoroughly enjoyed by whoever purchases a bag of me and my friends. I know I taste amazing
- rich, white mint perfection coated in a thin coat of dark chocolate.

  While we were being created, we York Mints often dreamed of who would buy us - the successful business
woman to keep us in a candy dish on her desk or the retired man who would enjoy a couple of us after
dinner each night. Some of us would be purchased to be tossed into the grabbing hands of hungry children
at a parade. This was a fate we all dreaded. We had heard stories of York Mints who had fallen to the warm
pavement, forgotten. They soon melted, never to be enjoyed and savored.

  I was pushed through the assembly line, and dressed in a beautiful shiny wrapped, then placed in a candy
bag. We were stuffed in boxes, transported in what I assumed were trucks (I had only heard of them before),
unloaded by a forklift, unboxed and placed on a shelf.

  I met the candy next to us on the shelf. They called themselves Reese’s peanut butter cups and thought
they were the best candy in the store. We learned to ignore their boasting and busied ourselves with dreaming
of who would buy us.

   Finally, she arrived. She was pushing a cart full of groceries and car seat with an adorable baby boy.
She lifted our bag and tossed it in the cart. We were ecstatic. But then to our horror, she also selected a
package of those haughty peanut butter cups and another of Mounds, whatever those were.

  We sent indifferent looks to the other candy, and secretly hoped she would give them to the baby.

  When we got home, she unloaded the groceries and put everyone away. We, and the other candy, were
placed on the top shelf of the pantry. Once the door was shut, the taunting began. “I bet we’ll be eaten first!”
sneered the peanut butter cups. “Oh, you inferior chocolates,” sniffed the Mounds. “Coconut and dark chocolate
are preferred the world around.” We shot back out replies, then we all fell into silence. Only time would
tell who was right.

  That evening when the woman’s husband came home, she told him all about us. We listened carefully,
hoping and waiting.

  “I bought the peanut butter cups for you because they are your favorite,” she said.

  The Reese’s sneered at us.

  “The Yorks are for me.”

  We sneered back.

   “And the Mounds for both of us.”

  The Mounds smiled condescendingly. “What did we tell you?”

  The first to be eaten were the peanut butter cups. The lady took just a few of us York Mint patties, every
couple of days. Soon the Mounds were all eaten. The days and weeks passed. And we were slowly taken,
two at a time.

  Finally, it was my turn. My mint heart swelled with joy and pride.

  The lady set us down beside a black computer. She typed away, seeming to ignore us. We waited patiently.
Finally, she reached for my friend.

  With her first bite, she smiled, savoring the delicious flavor. She finished him, then scrunched up the silver
wrapper. Just then, the scariest thing I had ever seen appeared. It was orange with wild eyes and prancing
paws. It grabbed at the lady’s hands as she typed.

  “Go away, Peaches!” she ordered, but the animal didn’t obey. She pushed it away, but back it came with
a vicious leap. Finally, she took my friend’s silver wrapped and tossed it away from her. The orange beast
dove for it and struck it with its paw.

  Would my remains be tossed so heartlessly to that beast? Would I be pushed and batted and chewed
in such a manner? But does it even matter? I don’t know. I choose to think only in the present. The future
will take care of itself.