The lolly floated through the sky, drifting like a feather caught in a breeze. Here it was again; lonely, just like a repeat of its teenage years. Childhood had been eventful, being a teenager difficult and now being an adult lolly was proving a challenge. As the lolly moved further towards the ground, it began to reminisce about its life.
It was a busy Monday morning when the lolly factory began feeding out sweets. Mr Lolly was a baby, wrapped up snugly in a bright orange wrapper, staring out at the big wide world. Mama Lolly and Papa Lolly cared for it for a month. Then they were all divided into large bags and shipped off to shops for people to buy.
That was the climax of Mr Lolly's teen years (well, weeks). He was furious at having to be bundled up in a bag waiting for someone to buy him. Finally, he was bought by an over-eager boy of about seven, to take into school for his friends as a birthday celebration treat.
And now, Mr Lolly was plummeting the several metres to the ground. The girl with bunches that had been handed him had thrown him up, up, up into the air and wandered off. Typical. Mr Lolly closed his eyes and slipped down.
