SHORT STORY BY STEVE SHAW

THE SWEET WRAPPER

“This is really depressing” groaned the wrapper as he watched the fourth young child that morning to exit Mrs Crump’s sweet shop with a packet of bubble gum. Judging by the clock behind the counter he reckoned he had been sitting in the section designated by the owner for chocolate bars for very nearly a week.

Having been produced and wrapped around a bar of plain dark chocolate what seemed to be a lifetime ago, his journey so far had indeed been eventful. Having spent a short time in the factory store where he was stacked on shelving very close to the ceiling, he was moved by heavy goods vehicle to a warehousing complex very close to the M5 motorway near Bristol. Although both provided very comfortable accommodation he did object to the ‘roller-coaster’ ride provided by stacker truck drivers as they whizzed around the factory floor. Being lifted upwards on a pallet at high speed made him feel positively sick, his fellow wrappers confirming his suspicions that vertigo was indeed the problem.

Although the warehouse employed few workers and was completely devoid of human life at night, the constant ‘hum’ of chattering wrappers of all shapes and sizes permeated the entire building. The sweets themselves were a fairly miserable lot, to be expected really as their life expectancy was unquestionably shorter than those of the wrappers that conveyed them to their inevitably sticky end.

But if you were a wrapper anything was possible, once a sweet or candy bar had been consumed, it was never clear where a wrapper might end up. The uncertainty of what the future might bring always gave a wrapper hope and it is fair to say that most sweet wrappers are born optimists.

The journey to Mrs Crump’s sweet shop had been comparatively short and without incident. The shop a characterful village style corner property had an entrance which overlooked a green with a large picture window either side of the door.

Mrs Crump a forty something with red hair and glasses had taken delivery of a variety of confectionery including chocolate bars, sherbet, toffees and chewing gum. An extremely jolly lady, she was well organised, with a keen eye for detail. Placing the sweets and candy bars in their allotted spaces had always been a labour of love. Woe betide a child who picked up a packet and failed to return it to its correct position.

And so our sweet wrapper found his way to Mrs Crump’s shop where he was placed with other bars of plain dark chocolate towards the back of the counter, very close to where Mrs Crump generally stood.

“Oh bother, I wish I had been wrapped around a bar of milk chocolate. They seem to sell a lot more quickly than we do”. In the time he had been on the counter he quickly observed that children were the most frequent customers and nearly always bought milk chocolate whereas it was adults who tended to buy dark chocolate.

“why is that?” he mused. No matter how hard he tried he could not understand the buying habits of humans. So whenever a child entered the shop his heart sank that little bit further in the sure knowledge that they would not remove him from his cosy abode. However each time the doorbells chimed and an older person entered the shop, his hopes rose markedly in anticipation of a purchase that would lead to another adventure.

His hopes had been dashed several times this last week, and on one occasion an elderly gentleman came in and said, “Good morning Mrs Crump, do you have a bar of plain chocolate for my good lady?”
“Well I believe we do, Mr Dobson” replied Mrs Crump in her ‘being most helpful’ voice.

All the wrappers in the dark chocolate section tried to use telepathy in an effort to guide Mrs Crump’s hand towards them. All of them screamed in unison “Me,me,me,me,me………”

For a split second as Mrs Crump’s hand hovered over the top of his head, our intrepid wrapper thought he had been chosen, but alas the owner made her selection and removed the bar of chocolate next to him.

“Oh crikey I can’t believe she didn’t choose me. Just how long must I wait?” Mr. Dobson reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a somewhat battered looking fifty pence piece and handed it to Mrs Crump.

“Thank you Mr Dobson, see you again soon” and with that he turned, opened the door and continued upon his way. That was yesterday and today the only customers had been school children, none of whom expressed an interest in purchasing dark chocolate.

The clock behind the counter struck 5 o’clock, the signal for Mrs Crump to close the door, count her takings and finally lock up for the day. In the space of ten minutes and with her usual punctuality, Mrs Crump had collected all her things together, turned off the lights and left the shop.

Closing time was particularly boring for all the shop’s inhabitants, although they had each other for company sweet wrappers craved the company of others especially humans. Sweets were a pretty dour bunch and not that much fun to be with, leaving the wrappers to chatter amongst themselves. However even the wrappers were eventually reduced to small talk and finally the shop fell silent save for the sound of the clock ticking behind the counter and the occasional drone of a motor vehicle as it passed the shop door. Little did our sweet wrapper realise that tomorrow would bring about such  a dramatic change.

The next day Mrs Crump arrived at the usual time of 8.30am, pushing her way through the door her outstretched arms fully laden with a three quarter length coat, two shopping bags, and a box containing two essential items, an electric kettle and a box of Typhoo tea. She cursed quietly as the door  closed behind her. It had been raining heavily and she was dripping water onto the shop floor. She would have to mop the floor before opening, interfering with her busy schedule. Despite the setback Mrs Crump opened the shop at exactly 9.00am as she had done for the last twenty three years.

Just after 10.15am Mrs Crump made her first pot of the day, sitting down in the dark alcove at the back of the shop she pulled two digestive biscuits from a ‘Teatime Assorted’ tin located next to the tiny ceramic ‘Belfast’ style sink. There was always a lull at this time  and as the radio played the overture from the Magic Flute, her thoughts began to wander drifting gently towards the possibility of a holiday in the Channel islands with her Aunt Jane.
Suddenly and quite unexpectedly the shop doorbells chimed loudly and a very familiar voice pronounced “ Mrs Crump. Are you there?” The enquiry gained the attention of all the shop’s inhabitants as well as the owner.

“Yes Father Upton, I’m here. Just having a nice cup of tea. Would you like a cuppa?There’s plenty in the pot, it’s no trouble”

“Unfortunately Mrs Crump I have no time this morning. The monthly committee meeting starts in half an hour and I still have things to see to, but thanks anyway. Do you have any plain chocolate?”

“Why of course Father”

Mrs Crump got up and walked purposefully towards the sweet counter. All the sweet wrappers in the plain chocolate section quivered with excitement. In an instant the selection had been made and our wrapper exclaimed “Yes it’s me, by jove I can’t believe it. This is really it!”

“Will this do Father?” She held up the chocolate bar for approval.

“Ah that will be fine Mrs Crump. How much do I owe you?”

The priest paid for his wares, put the bar into his coat pocket and quickly went upon his way, anxious not to be late for his parishioners.

Leaving the shop behind Father Upton crossed the green in front of the shop then turned sharp left between a cottage and a large beech hedge into Granary Lane which led down to the village hall. As he did so he took the bar of chocolate from his coat pocket and quickly separated the wrapper from the goodies inside. Father Upton was not very receptive to the countless items he often saw on television about junk food, indeed he would admit to anyone his weakness for dark chocolate. Anyway he had a strong recollection that at least one of these health related reports had suggested that plain chocolate in moderate amounts was beneficial. He was going with that, and clasping our wrapper in one hand, he began to consume the chocolate bar with the other.

Being removed from the priest’s coat pocket had proven to be somewhat of a shock to his system, the difference in temperature compared with the outside world was considerable, and would take some getting used to. Not only that he was now fluttering precariously in the cold February wind.

Father Upton who was clutching our wrapper between thumb and index finger had every intention of depositing him safely in the litter bin that stood  by the gate to the village hall. Then without warning a gust of wind tore the wrapper from his grasp.

“Whoa, way to go man. You beauty! This is going to be one hell of a ride” shrieked the wrapper with unbounded joy. Having spent his entire existence restricted in some shape or form the sudden thrill of being released in this way was a real adrenaline rush. However his excitement was tempered by the thought that his newly found liberty might not be entirely trouble free.

Still at this moment he did not have a worry in the world as the squally gust carried him further towards the heavens. Whatever the future had in store, he was determined to enjoy this moment for as long as he possibly could.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, Father Upton peered all around to see whether anyone had observed his mishap. Luckily he could not see anyone. He opened the wrought iron gate and made his way into the hall. Next time he would be more careful.

As the gust of wind took the wrapper ever upwards, he glanced down at the patchwork quilt of fields which surrounded the village. His last custodian, Father Upton quickly disappeared from view. ‘Was this how an aircraft pilot felt?’ he mused. His previous notion that he suffered from vertigo was now a distant memory.

Suddenly the ground drew nearer, the gusty squall that had carried him skywards had ebbed away and despite his lack of weight, gravity was beginning to take effect. Whoosh A black and white blur passed worryingly close to his port side. “What in the name of packaging paper was that?”exclaimed the wrapper. Slowly but surely our wrapper returned to Terra firma and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Despite the thrills of airborne travel, it was reassuringly good to be at ground level again. He came to rest in the top of a hawthorn hedge, some distance from the village he believed.

He’d hardly had time to catch his breath and take in his new surroundings. when a voice called out,

“You were lucky there mate. Had that magpie got hold of you, anything could have happened, still we have more lives than a cat you know”

The hedge in which our wrapper had landed was dense, thorny too, but glancing upwards and slightly to his right he saw a burger carton firmly caught up in the foliage.

“I’ve been stuck here for some time, just not been able to get free. Mind you can’t complain. Not a great deal happening here but at least its safe.”
said the carton, cheerfully.

The carton’s warmth of expression was distinctly reassuring. To the casual observer the carton and wrapper were nothing more than two items of discarded litter, an unwelcome but familiar sight in both town and country.

The following few days passed without incident but finally their peace was shattered when without warning and with terrifying swiftness the hawthorn hedge came under fierce attack.

It was very early in the morning, in fact daylight had only just broken through when a monstrously loud clattering noise broke the calmness which normally pervaded the farmers field. All the birds which had taken up temporary residence were the first to leave, taking off in almost perfect unison. They cleared the hedge and the field in a blink of an eye. Ground dwellers such as mice, voles and rabbits scurried away quickly into the long grass.

Unfortunately but with a degree of inevitably, items of litter and debris were directly in the firing line. Alarmed by the commotion all around them, the carton and wrapper had no real understanding of what was happening. The grim reality of their predicament was soon apparent.

Slowly but inexorably the field hedge cutter drew ever closer. The clattering, mechanical noise had reached deafening proportions. From their vantage point towards the top of the hedge the mortified duo, witnessed the arrival of a tractor with a flailing, side mounted cutting blade. Huge chunks of the hedge were being ripped apart, spewn into the air and falling back again as shredded fragments of wood. The carton and sweet wrapper were unable to influence matters, they were trapped, there was simply nothing they could do. Fearing the worst they held their breath…….

Then in a split second it was over. Turbulence created by the high speed of the cutting arm had released them both. The burger carton a hinged affair was separated cleanly in two and fell down to the base of the hedge and covered by a layer of loose cuttings. It could have been worse, much, much worse.

The sweet wrapper was buffeted clear of the hedge and then a gentle breeze carried him even further away and clear of danger. From now on avoiding hedges had become his main priority.

Surfing the warmer thermal currents, the sweet wrapper was transported further and further south. As he looked down he became increasingly aware of the changing landscape beneath him. Fields had given way to a mixture of roads, houses and intermittent green spaces. If he was not mistaken, he was fast approaching the outskirts of a small town.

The gentle thermals gradually lost their energy and once again he headed towards the earth not knowing what to expect. He was pleasantly surprised and relieved to find himself in an area of parkland, finally coming to rest beneath the spreading branches of a winter flowering cherry tree. Although quiet and peaceful he was out in the open, leaving him with a sense of insecurity he had not felt before.

Since his introduction to the world, the result of a manufacturing process devised by man, the wrapper had become very familiar with the realm of humans. Now following the purchase of the chocolate bar and his sudden release from custodial care he had become more aware of things such as birds, buildings, farms, tractors and dare he say, hedge cutters!

Life on the outside was indeed a steep learning curve. He was now to be introduced to the world of canines, and specifically the kingdom of the spaniel.

He had been a park resident  for just a few hours when he heard two women chattering in the distance. The sound of their voices was accompanied by a persistent coarse ‘yapping’ noise.

It wasn’t long before the unlikely trio came into view. The taller of the two women bent down, removing the leash from the young liver and white springer spaniel, who dashed off  back in the direction from whence they came.

“Jack, Jack, here Jack. Goood Booooy”.

There was a short pause before the dog rounded the large rhododendron bush returning to his owners side with his tail wagging furiously like out of control car windscreen wipers.

Jack then ran adjacent to the Laurel hedge which bordered  the park boundary, turned sharply to the left and headed towards the cherry tree.

The sweet wrapper felt a wave of nausea break all over him. It was the sort of feeling humans get sometimes, you just know when you know. He was sure Jack was coming for him. Jack scurried along, snorting loudly and barely removing his nose from the ground. Ever closer he moved towards the tree ever nearer to where the wrapper lay.

Then suddenly and with a degree of discomfort, the Spaniel’s teeth pierced the edge of his shiny silver foil coating. The spaniel picked him up, looked around at his owners and without paying any attention to their pleas cantered off towards the point where the stream ran through the park.

“Jack, Jack, put it down, come back here, you little…” cursed the smaller of the two women. But Jack as usual was having none of it. Constantly being told he was a nuisance, he had a reputation to live up to, and today he had made up his mind, he was going into the stream.

“No, No, No, Jack, No, Don’t you dare!” shrieked the taller woman.

‘Spploshhh, Plunk, Doosh!’

Jack was in the water. All four legs together right up to his chin. His owners hurried to the stream edge and pleaded with him to get out, but Jack was having too much fun.

The mischievous dog ran backwards and forwards along the stream bed, clutching the wrapper firmly in his mouth. Fortunately the sweet wrapper had a waterproof coating which prevented him from getting too cold but the continual dunking in the water did little for his nerves. One moment he was in the next he was out and so it went on. To be perfectly frank his emotions veered from feeling utterly terrified to thinking ‘ What else does this dog do for kicks?’

Eventually the effort of running through running water took its toll and Jack discovering a low point in the stream bank leapt out and shook himself vigorously. The frenetic movement of Jack’s head made the wrapper feel dizzy, he thought he might be losing conciousness when Jack’s owners arrived on the scene.

“You are a little devil Jack, you really are. We’ll have to give you a bath when we get home.”

Jack looking rather pleased with himself sat down on the grass and released the wrapper from his saliva laden mouth. Panting furiously he looked up at his owners as if to say ‘well that got you going didn’t it’

The wrapper now basking in glorious Cornish sunshine reflected on his latest adventure, whilst the two women reunited Jack with his lead.

“You’ve certainly got your hands full with that one, Mrs Wilson” said the park keeper who brandished his litter pick, then in one fell swoop picked up the wrapper and deposited it in a heavy duty black bag.

Within an hour the bag had joined another two dozen similarly shaped bags on the back of a Local Authority flat truck.

As the truck pulled away the bags jostled and moved, one of them opened and a sweet wrapper fell out.

THE END