36
Valentine
by Elena Close,
5th form I
always hoped it wouldn't end like this,
I mean, I knew it was a possibility, the
statistics prove that, but you never
expect it to happen to you. I pray I get
sent to the incinerator, I've heard it's a
better way to go; more painful, yes; but
faster, and less emotional torture involved
than sitting on a landfill site for the rest of
my time, slowly decaying. To this day, I
don't quite know what went wrong. Was
it me? Was it just never meant to be?
Will I ever know?
This whole experience began for me
exactly one month ago, when you are
processed through all the different stages,
each one filling you with more and more
joy. As you sit in your box, surrounded by
so many other hopefuls, your mind begins
to wonder: who will buy me? Who will I
be given to? Will I be loved? Will I be
treasured forever?
Finally, after days and days of being
shaken and knocked, the loud ripping
noises of the sellotape being scraped off
echo throughout the box. For the first
time since we left the factory, we will see
daylight, the experience is becoming so
much more real for every single one of us.
Slowly, one by one, we are unpacked.
I feel my turn approaching, and then with
a swift movement, my sides are pinched,
and I am roughly shoved into a small gap
on the shelf. The girl responsible for this
discomfort continues to unpack the
rapidly emptying box. She doesn't seem
to share the same excitement as we do,
muttering insulting words and phrases
beneath her breath. Is she just a
pessimist? Or is there a deeper reason for
her unhappiness? Just as my mind
begins to wander on to different things,
I hear that one phrase which confirms to
me that she is indeed heartbroken: "He
never would have bothered with all this
rubbish anyway, I'm better off without
him!" A harsh tone to her voice, trying to
disguise her pain with hatred, but both
shining through incandescently.
Throughout the days, hundreds of people
wander through our aisles, the majority
falling into one of four categories. First
there is the large group of giggly teenage
girls, choosing the appropriate card for
their boyfriend being the most important
issue in the world to them. "It has to be
funny but say "I love you", only subtly
though and definitely not cheesy!"
A criterion which I obviously did not fulfill
as I was left on the shelf.
Next was the solemn, embarrassed boy,
trying to make the excruciating process of
acting all 'lovey-dovey' as quick and
painless as possible.
Then there were those middle-aged ones,
so deeply in love that they are made
oblivious to all that surrounds them. So
Amelia Willmott A2