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By Anna Garthwaite | Posted: Friday June 3, 2016

Can you guess what we are describing?

The crinkle of the almost-square plastic wrapper, outlined with the same shade of calming purple.

Slightly darker than lavender, the mysterious smell of grape infused with something else.

The taste of it, sugar-sweet, refreshing, the tinge of grape, shaped into the gleeful face of an innocent, eager boy, at the apex of a long, slender, hollow white stick.

The little bumps of shape in between smooth grooves, my tongue in for a toothbrush with no mint, but simply grape scent and sweet, sweet, delectable sugar.

The little air bubbles trapped inside, compressed between the thin, round layers like a statue frozen in place.

The explosion of it all, the harmonised blend of the favourites of a young child, the hyper after, the sticky but satisfying feeling, something both girls and boys enjoy alike.


Then I see it. The brightly coloured speck amongst the grey dirt of this dump. I pick it up. I hold the crispy crackling wrapper in my hand, turning it around and around. I tear it off and pop it into my mouth, the sweet sugary flavour filling my senses. I twist it around in my mouth. The heady strawberry scent dances in the air, familiar but strange in this surrounding. The bright pink colour is see-through as I hold it out. I stare, mesmerised, as it twirls, catching the sunlight. The plastic stick is smooth and white, and I can see it through the pink. The strawberry is tangy and sweet and I wish it could last forever. Funny, I remember a time I disliked the artificial taste, the intense sugary flavour. Now it is a luxury. I can feel myself drifting away on fluffy pink strawberry-flavoured clouds, the sun shining gently down, warming the sugar and and deliciousness. A rainbow of flavours glitters in the sky, as birds flit and sing around it. But the sun begins to melt the sugar, and it drips down, and dissolves and disappears, leaving me standing knee deep in rubbish with my dirty cheap clothes and moneyless pockets.  


As I pull on the crisp, crackly plastic sheath, I begin to smell the aroma of artificial strawberries of the sugar-loaded gem inside. I imagine the explosion of mass produced hard sugar, the stuff that's designed to rot teeth to the gum. I break through the transparent barrier.


A dark reddish pink, it lay on the table, small and tempting. The scrunch of the colourful plastic as I rip off the wrapper.The heavenly-sweet smell almost oozing as the the wrapper falls all the way off, as it comes into full view.


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