The Final Sale | Teen Ink

The Final Sale

February 24, 2012
By countrygirl28 GOLD, Colleyville, Texas
countrygirl28 GOLD, Colleyville, Texas
15 articles 137 photos 74 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Expose yourself to your deepest fear. After that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free." -Jim Morrison
"Don't think or judge. Just listen." -Sarah Dessen

The lengthy wooden gate sways open for me as my sheep, Herold, and I enter the precisely arranged auction arena, equipped for the vast sale. Inside, I am a rage of anxiety, but I give off a confident I-know-what-I’m-doing poised vibe as my mom flashes an ecstatic grin and a huge thumbs up. After the bidders carefully examine my sheep’s natural saunter, I apprehensively set him up. Lunging forward, he braces against me, tightening his rock-hard muscles for all to observe. Although his hind legs are not as parallel as they ought to, my confidence echelon boosts a mile high as the middle-aged cowboy auctioneer starts spitting out numbers faster than Jeff Gordon on the NASCAR track. I promptly begin to feed off his energetic vibe, swiftly forgetting Herold’s flawed foot placement. Concentrating, I direct my ears towards the chap behind me in an attempt to catch phrases of the extemporaneous rambling over the microphone. Thankfully, I am able to pick out slithers of essential information. He is currently up to $900. Consumed with delight, I awkwardly flap my hand around my face, attempting to conceal the streams of tears creating a puddle on my shirt. The auctioneer proudly exclaims, “$1,000…$1,000…SOLD! for $1,000.” There’s no point in concealing my face now, as it is completely covered in tears of joy. My eyes are hazy as the waterfall continues to pour, significantly impairing my gross motor skills and their ability to function properly. Unable to budge, I stand stationary until I am conspicuously directed towards the exit by a gentleman. Once outside the arena, I am giddy with excitement as I stammer my feet in an attempt to walk upright. I soon find out that it was a dire split-second plan. I stumble upon Herold’s hoofs, then plummet directly into a nice woman’s camping chair, interrupting her pleasant afternoon. “OH!” She exclaims, astonished by my abrupt emergence. “It’s all good!” I manage to sputter from underneath the clutter, although I’m sure it sounded more like, “Iph awl geed!” As I emerge from the chair, magazines, and drinks, I become conscious of the fact that Herold is no longer in my grasp. Thankfully, a civil man, aware of what is going on, caught my runaway sheep. I stood up, smoothed my show shirt, thanked the man, and unflinchingly continued on my way, a move Tyra Banks would be proud of. I soon came in contact with my mom, and we did a happy dance celebrating my victory, right there in the core of the colossal barn “Let the onlookers stare,” I thought to myself. “They’re just jealous of our wicked dance moves.” I smiled surreptitiously to myself at the notion. Of course, the partying and crazy dance moves sustained as the day prevailed, but another provoking contemplation persisted, exasperating my brain. Although I am became increasingly aware of the heartbreaking reality that Herold will quickly be traveling to another surrounding, I opt to savor the moment of bliss and treasure during our final sacred Earthly memories together, assured that we will unite once more in Paradise.

The author's comments:
This piece is about when I had to sell my sheep, Herold, for FFA and the experiences I had.

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