Written by Aarav Singh, a grade 5 student.
The stunts in this story have been performed for the entertainment of readers. Please do not attempt these stunts at home. (Especially coins)
There I was sitting in a black drawer which I knew was a cash register. Two black plastic partitioners on either side. Eh, you know a normal coin life. I was just listening to the frequent beeping of the scanner. I heard some talk which I was too lazy to hear. I then heard ‘ka-ching!’ and the register opened revealing my silver and gold body to the lights of the store. As the cashier was giving the man who was buying change, it was me of the 100 $1 coins that were picked up.
At first, when I saw the brown pouch called a wallet, I was excited to stay in there. But when I saw the tiny compartment for coins, I was screaming ‘NO!’ as loud as possible but I realized that I am a coin and I can’t talk. At that time when I was in the cashier’s cold hand, I wondered if staying in the wallet was worth it. I had no other choice. It’s not like I could flip out of the hand land on the floor and run away. And even if I could, I would probably die of impact on the floor. (If that is possible) I was then collected in the man’s hand stuffed into the small coin space. I heard a click and the wallet was probably stuffed in a pocket. I wondered if there was so little space for a coin, why is a wallet so big.
In the pocket, I saw many other coin buddies. I could understand them and they could understand me, even though we did not talk. We practically talked in each other’s minds. I wondered if there were so many of us how we knew who was who. Apparently, we could read each other’s minds. One of the coins that were also a $1 coin answered my question saying, we have names. Honestly, I was really confused. Everyone took turns to introduce themselves. There were kids like 10¢ and 5¢ coins and adults full-grown adults like me. Since I never knew I would get a name I never assumed one. Well now, the coins gave me the name of Bob, like the other coins with everyday American names. They told me how they had been in the wallet for a long time. They had wanted to get out too. I told them that together we would find a way out.
Soon the man who was sitting got up thanked a man driving a car, giving him something like a rectangular piece of paper. The coins were all glowering at it. Not knowing why I did not. I soon felt the wallet being taken out of my pocket and laid on something like a table. Someone opened it and the coin compartment was opened with a click sound. Then a hand was slowly picking out coins and counting something. I watched in horror as my newly-made friends were being lifted up never to be seen again. Soon I also felt myself being lifted up.
Honestly, I was happy because wherever my friends were, I was with them. I then saw another piece of that rectangular paper; it was just a different color. The coins had started to growl at the paper on sight. As I stared at it and observed it more carefully, it was as if though it could speak like the coins, in my mind. Currently, it was taunting and sneering at us. I made what felt like an annoyed face and diverted my attention to something else. My friends and I were stacked in a pile and given to someone else.
Okay, so I knew we were going somewhere. But I didn’t know where exactly. It then came looming into view. A vending machine. A coin’s worst nightmare. Even the note seemed to be scared at the sight of the machine. I saw the slot for coins and something below that.
A small rectangular machine extending a bit forward. There was a very small slot. Not knowing what it was I asked my best coin buddy, Jeff. He explained that how coins have a slot to be dropped into; notes have that slit to be sucked into. I wondered about that and then looked at the note. He was practically a white note. (If that is there) Looking at the note, I pitied it. I have experience with vending machines. Trust me; it’s not something you want. Reading my mind, Jeff told not to pity it as coins and notes are rivals.
The coins were cheering as the hand was holding the note in front of the small device. The hand was slowly pushing it forward, but it suddenly stopped. I looked up and saw a big yellow banner reading ‘OUT OF SERVICE FOR REPAIRS’. The human turned away from the machine started going somewhere else. The note was taunting us and annoying us about his newfound victory. I gritted my teeth at that darned thing.
A day or two passed of me lying in the wallet until I was on the move again. This time I was on one mode of public transport, the MRT. My coin buddies had council meetings in the time while we were just lying in the wallet. In those, we discussed our idea of escape. We all had finally agreed on one. We had to push the pocket opening with all our might to open it. It was then up to us to escape. At the time of the strike, a dry voice spoke saying, “Not so fast. If you’re going so am I.” It was none other than the voice of our arch-enemy the $2 note. Mustering the courage, I managed to say, “Shut up, 2”. Of course he sneered. “Oh you may not worry. I shall not interfere with your little jailbreak here. I just intend to use your, if I must say, well-made plan.” We decided to say nothing because, in the end, he is not harming us. The plan was perfect. As planned most of us fell out. Luck or not, we fell underneath the seat. Of course, some did not, and were picked up. The jailbreak had definitely surprised the owner of the wallet. As $2 was hungrily looking at the floor with the glee of freedom, he was snatched up by a hand. He was screaming and writhing in the hand as he was lifted up and stuffed in the wallet. We smiled and laughed at our victory.
We were in the MRT for an extremely long time but we were soon picked up by a cleaner. Looking at us, he smiled and said, “Could be antiques now. No use of them anymore.” He also muttered something like starting a collection. He smiled at us one last time and said, “No match for the new credit cards. Much easier to use those.” It was then at that moment we realized that we had a new rival in the making.