I see her prowling the aisles, trying to decide what her pick of the day. She comes in here three or four times a week for a sugar fix, usually after she returns from her job. She looks tired, but her eyes gleam as they run over the shiny wrappers. She takes her sweet time deciding what to buy. You can almost see her calculating and weighing the options in her head.
“Pick me! Look at me!”
“No, pick me! I’m nougat and caramel and peanuts!”
“Pft. Who likes peanuts? She wants walnuts and raisins!”
“Oh, you guys, you know she wants a piece of lil’ white me.”
“Oh shut up. Everyone knows white chocolate isn’t really chocolate.”*
The candy bars do this every day, even though they know that she can’t really hear them. I, however, maintain my silence. I know she’s not going to pick me. It’s been months since she spared a look in my direction, so there’s no reason why she should start noticing me now. I’m but a boring old Twix.
She reaches out for a Mars bar (“Yay!”). Her hand hovers over the box for a moment before she lets it drop back to her side, amidst groans from the Mars bar and cheers from the other candy bars. She sighs and scrutinizes the shelves some more as she walks up and down the length of the aisle. Suddenly she stops and frowns… at me. Then her eyes light up in recognition, as if she’d been reunited with a long-lost friend. Her fingers close around me without a second thought.
Mars is highly affronted. “Seriously? You ditch me for Twix?”
I personally can’t believe it myself. I don’t believe it even after she pays for me and leaves the store. I keep thinking she’ll have a change of heart and go back to return me, but she only sticks me in her hand bag and takes me home. It’s dark and crowded and stuffy in the bag, and I worry that I may become bruised – or worse, melted – and she’ll never want to eat me. I don’t know how long I stay in there, but eventually she opens it and takes me out.
She slowly tears my golden wrapping and pushes up one of my fingers. I feel a shiver of excitement. This is it. I’m finally going to achieve my purpose in life. I feel no pain as she sinks her teeth into me; au contraire, I feel absolute bliss. This is only heightened when she says, “Oh wow, I’ve forgotten how good Twix tastes.”
I can now die happy.
* For the record, I do believe white chocolate is chocolate. The views of the chocolate bars are in no way related to my own.
This is my response to the Weekly Writing Challenge on WP, which you can find here. It’s been a while since I did any writing challenges, but I’ve always loved writing about inanimate objects! Let me know what you think.