For our fridays lesson we had to write a story. We went to the Tate’s by the Thames to have a look around the area. I quickly found the gift shop within where I looked for potential story material. I spotted a shelf with plushies, foxes. Somehow I thought they looked sad, and I wished to write about one of them. How he might see the world and how it feels.
I see them everyday, the people, all the people. I think they are countless. There’s no end to them. I like the people. The people bring life to the store around me. But the people also make me sad. Quite so sad.
I am always placed at the same place. I think, I think when I just got here I had a different location. I can’t recall. But, the store is large, it’s very large. And because of that time and space collides. It becomes one. Just like I am one with the clones behind me on the rack. We are all the same. It’s minor difference that make us apart. Only the skilled eye can looks us apart.
I like the children the most. I really do. Because the children are the ones coming over the to have a look, to touch my fabric and to poke my black snout. Sometimes I get complimented by them. Especially the girls like me. They will tell their parents how cute I look and what bright orange colour I have. I like my orange pelt.
I wish I could see myself a bit better, I only rarely get a glimpse of myself when someone with a mobile walks past and it reflects me.
The time before this store is a cloudy mist to me. The other clones of me behind me on the rack, they often speak of how they don’t remember anything too. Maybe it’s because our minds are soft and cuddly. I don’t know.
I like looking at the people walking past, I like thinking of their lives and where they come from. Old people are the best. They have had a long life and therefore many stories. I often picture the elderly men as veterans from wars, wars that I have never heard about but seen on the book covers across my spot in the store.
Our store is very big. Too big. It has many books and articles, materials for drawing and help with drawing. Pencils, erasers, papers. I don’t like the erasers, I don’t like to be forgotten.
I remember a recent event. An old woman walked past me, she even picked me up from the rack and held me. She held my tightly. Her hands were warm and soft. Her face what hidden behind a curtain of wrinkles and folds. She looked friendly. She spoke, that was the memorable part. She said she disliked the way I was knitted together. She said it was bad, because it was done by a machine and not human hands. She said she could do it better, and she wished she had done it better. She was nice, but she confused me. A machine? I don’t even know what a machine it, besides the large metalic objects with steam on some of the book covers to me side. Are those the machines that knitted me?
She shook her head and placed me down again on my rack, I dangled. The clones behind me was all surprised. We seem to think the same, we are clones after all. None of us enjoyed the idea of cold machines, we feared them. Perhaps unconsciously we dreaded them.
I began thinking of the old woman everyday, and her words. I began missing her. I wanted her to hold me again and knit me better. knit me perfectly together. I wasn’t perfect, I was made by a machine.
I sometimes think of great things. Things like me as a present to a child. I would like that very much, to bring joy to someone else. My life is not joyful. I want it to be, but this rack keeps me here. I cannot lift my arms to free myself, in fact, I cannot move at all. Not even blink. None of us can. It’s scary now I come to think of it.
I think of the old woman everyday now, was my brain not soft and cuddly I would think of myself as mad. I miss her still. I think I do what people call silent praying. I can only do silent prayers. I cannot move my lips. I don’t have a mouth.
I have wished and prayed for the old woman everyday. I think it’s been a while now. I am not sure. I think she may never return. I would cry could I.
My mind is going blank, I am okay with this. Things are going blurry. That is okay. I can no longer see.
I was not going blind, it was just another clone placed in front of me on the rack, covering for my eyes. It’s alright now, he was taken down and given to a child before long. I envy him. A lot. I keep trying to move my limps, but they won’t react to me.
The world around me is suddenly spinning, violently. I am being liften up and spun around, inspected all around. “This is it.” the old woman’s voice. I hear it. And now I see her as she spins me around to face upwards. She smiles down at me before she walks across the store. I’m a little scared, I have never been held for this long. I can see my old rack from here, as I dangle from side to side it looks like my clones are waving me goodbye with their entire bodies. I know they’re not.
I am placed on the counter, and I am payed for without hesitation. I know I am expensive. That is why so few wants us. The machines who made us most have been a new one.
I am picked up, her hand warm around my body. She carries me outside the store where she sits us down on a bench nearby. I am sat next to her, she has placed me in a sitting position. I have never sat before, only dangled. She rummages through her small purse. She is looking for something. She finds it. It’s a small blue vest. It looks home made and knitted. “This is how you knit.” she says before dressing me. It looks nice on me, I bet. I cannot look down to see.
She picks me up again, she pats my head. “You’re a good fox. So orange and bright. I am sure my grand-daughter will adore you.” I like her words, they are reassuring me of a better place. A home. I can be a gift. Everything around me goes dark as I am placed in her purse. The world spins as we walk, but I am at peace. I can feel my new vest around me. It’s perfect fit.
nadiadalgaard 