Mug

Originally written in the 3rd person then translated as a writing exercise. The Original is shown here 1st. The final version is written in the 2nd person.

The small green mug didn’t dare to dream that he’d never see Sir Robert Shaw again, but it was almost a week since he’d last been roughly grabbed from the cupboard, filled with scorching hot unsweetened tea and slammed down on the desk multiple times a day. His bottom was starting to get some feeling back and he was beginning to feel brighter too. Slowly over the year since Sir Rough and Shirty (as the mug liked to refer to him) had taken to always picking him from the cupboard the little mug had lost his sheen and had been steadily going darker in colour. Once he’d had gold lettering wrapped around his middle ‘Harrods’ it had read, but every time he came out of the steam bath it seemed to have faded a little more.  He’d picked up some chips along the way too – you don’t get away from the number of desk slams he’d suffered without a few missing bits of glaze.

Now as he sat in the back of the dark cupboard all alone (the other mugs had been taken for the day), he didn’t miss the loud gruff voice or the rough lips. He did miss the outside though, he usually had a great view across the city from SRS’s desk, if he was lucky enough to be left on side away from the computer. He wondered if he might just find someone new, someone like Rose had to take her each day, with soft hands and lips and fun things to say. Or like the one who always favoured Orange and only ever filled him with cold water, or occasionally squash. He supposed anyone would be better than SRS.

The other mugs came back early from their hot steam bath that night, everyone had something to say at night in the cupboard. With all the usual tales of office life. Meetings and phone calls, Cadbury had even been outside again, but he’d also been used as an ashtray in the process and didn’t want to talk about the humiliation – ash tasted worse than lemsip. Little Green asked if anyone had seen or heard SRS around the office, he’d been asking for a couple of days now. But no one had, Rose asked little green how his bottom was and had said he was looking lighter again.

Suddenly the cupboard opened and two hands reached in picking up the mugs at the front. Then more hands collected more mugs, including Little Green. They were all huddle together near the coffee and tea caddies, no one dared to move. All the people from the office were gathered around the area. Little Green carefully looked around for SRS, and was relieved not to see him. Cadbury whispered something no-one could hear but little Green. Little Green smiled inside, Cadbury had heard the sound of foil being removed from a bottle and sure enough next came a pop, but there was no cheer from the office workers, which was a little odd. All the mugs got a splash of the warming fizzy substance that made them all feel giggly, all except Little Green. He stopped smiling inside. The office workers all picked up their mugs and raised them in the air.

‘Sir Robert, rest in peace’ one of the men had said.

‘Sir Robert’ All the others replied together.

Little Green gazed around at everyone from his lonely place left on the counter, most of the workers drank the content of theirs mugs quickly and returned them to the blue rack which went into the steam bath. Was he going to be left out in the cold all night on his own – no bath and not put to bed back in the cupboard, he wondered. Then he felt warm hands surround him and he was being carried away, he briefly relaxed then unexpectedly he was flying rapidly through the air – this isn’t right he thought as he was plunged once more into darkness crashing to the bottom of the rubbish bin. The last thing he heard as he cracked into pieces?

‘We don’t need to keep this eyesore around anymore, not now Sir Robert Shaw is no more’

Translated into 2nd person

You didn’t even dream that you would never see Sir Robert Shaw again. It had been almost a week since Sir Robert had roughly grabbed you from the cupboard for his morning tea. He always took it scalding hot, no milk to cool it or sugar to sweeten it. You never complained about how he would slam you down when his business calls or meetings didn’t go well. All the chips and marks you suffered over the years, losing your shine and gorgeous gold lettering from Harrod’s. Everyone else envied you at first, the big boss’s mug. A privileged position. And you this little upstart had somehow been chosen. Soon enough though everyone else saw how roughly you were treated and no one envied you anymore.

Each evening that last week you’d started to look brighter again and had even said you were feeling better. It was clear you missed being in that huge corner office with the view of the bustling city, but not the price you’d had to pay for it. You lapped up the most basic of gossip from the other mugs, even giggling at Cadbury having to substitute for an astray again – at least he’d been outside you’d said.

When the cupboard was opened after the office usually went silent, you seemed happy to be taken out with the rest of us. Cadbury had worked out the champagne was coming and you two shared a quiet joke, you didn’t think anyone could see you smiling. You quickly fell back into glum silence, no smile or glow when you didn’t get any champagne, and no-one selected you again.

As the toast to Sir Robert was made, you were there alone on the counter watching patiently waiting to be put away. The man who’d made the toast picked you up and instead of putting you in the cupboard tossed you expertly towards the bin, exclaiming as he did,

 ‘We don’t need to keep this eyesore around anymore, not now Sir Robert Shaw is no more’