He had woken to a clash of bright orange and chirpy voices. This was Perry Whistle’s first memory. He was shoved into a bag that smelled of fresh plastic and, from what he could see, was thrown onto the back of a large shipping truck with the others. The others…who were they? Short, sleek, and bright orange. He caught glimpses of the letters ‘S.O.S’ branded on their backs. He looked down at his own body that read ‘made in England’ on it, just like the rest. He could see other bags containing paper cups and cartons of fresh milk clanking together with the jolting of the old truck. Everyone was pushing and shoving for what little room was available in their cramped space. A soda can went whizzing by, rolling up and down the length of the truck. The anger on his face was clear to everyone; deep dents in his shiny body were almost too much for him to bear. They could hear the fizzing and brewing of his frustration inside, like he could explode at any minute. Perry Whistle shifted uneasily and remained silent. He was nervous and didn’t know what to make of this journey. They were tightly packed and there was scarce enough room for him to breathe. A few others were wheezing by now. They were lightly jumbled then violently
Rain pattered outside and fell with a ‘ting’ on the roof. He took a good look around the inside of the truck through the cloudy plastic. The dull metal and moldy wood that framed the inside were cold and uninviting. Perry Whistle felt caged and out of place. He shuddered as he felt a gust of wind nip at his square little face. He turned and saw a long crack of light under the door where the cold air could leak in. Around the edges dark rust started to build, probably from the rain. He huddled against the other whistles but their frozen stiff bodies weren’t of much comfort. He eyed the paper cups as they crunched together, dreaming of coffee and mint tea, and nodded off to sleep.
Months had passed and dust had collected on his whole body. The sticker on his back had begun to unpeel and the corners were slowly curling up. The long days and cold nights left him frozen and mute, and the bitter air made him miserable. He could see a pair of hazel-green eyes fixated on him from across the room. It was the older lady that owned the store and she looked at him with a puzzled expression. “You should have been sold by now…”she muttered. Gently lifting him down into her hand, she examined the sticker. She looked surprised at what was written, and gently peeled it off. She replaced it with a new one that read seventy-five cents. “Next time ask me how much the merchandise is!” she called to the back of the room. He wasn’t sure if this insulted him or not. But soon after, a young man came rushing in the door. He hustled around the room, blindly grabbing
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