A piece of clay was mined from the earth. It was processed to remove impurities and sold in a weighed chunk at an art supply store. In the year 1996 a beginning potter put it on a wheel and used  fingers and tools to sculpt it into a small cup. A glaze of light speckled tan was applied to the chalky clay surface. It was later sold at craft shop. It had a place on a shelf for a year where it collected some dust. Then the owner of the house moved away and sold Mr. Cup at a yard sale. Mr. Cup came into the possession of an English teacher next. He was placed into a bag where he met some new friends.

 The melancholic Dried Rose sisters were very beautiful and fragile. Each had faded deep red petals that sometimes fell off and dark green stems that had become brittle after being cut from the rosebush. Mr. Cup flirted with the Rose sisters at first but they were not his type of inanimate object. He was mineral and they were plant. Once one of them recited him some poetry. It was a sad poem about never blooming again.

 Also living in the bag with them was a cookbook. His name was Benson Hedges. He had a shiny cover and glossy pages. He had been part of a promotion by a cigarette company and a travel agency.  Benson knew a lot about cooking and tourism but he was a rather shallow object. He talked too much and was always spouting off about soufflés or the swimming pools in Florida.

 The bag was passed around a group of humans one day. Various hands reached into the dark safety of the bag. Most of the hands were gentle and felt around delicately before selecting an object and removing it. Mr. Cup had a bad feeling when the rose sisters were plucked out knocking off some petals. More hands reached in and took things out until a large hand felt it's way around as if looking for a weapon. It fondled things roughly and grabbed Mr. Cup firmly.

 Soon Mr. Cup was in another bag with some more books. He tried to strike up some conversation but the books were busy reading themselves. Then came the big hand again. He tried to hide behind some books but the hand was persistent. He kept one step ahead of the hand for a second but then he was trapped. As the hand lifted him out into the light he decided to make a run for it. Only two fingers gripped him and with all his might he twisted free from them. Mr. Cup was flying. He had never felt like this before. He was free and happy in the air. Then he saw something big and flat and solid heading right for him. A sound pierced the silence, a sound of shattering, clattering, and scattering.  Mr. Cup met Mr. Floor.