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Life as a Pencil
I had hoped for a good day. I sat in the cup, nervously waiting. Waiting for someone to pick me up. Someone finally did. I was yanked up. My breath was taken away, as she tried to squeeze the life out of me. She tapped me against the table, slammed me into the paper, and proceeded to break off part of my point. “OWW” I screamed, but she couldn’t hear me. “She is such a monster,” I thought. When she got up with her paper, “Now’s my chance. I must escape,” I thought. I rolled off the desk, and landed with a thud. Ouch. Just when I had escaped, CRACK, a heavy weight just landed one me, splitting me in half. The someone picked me up and sharpened the other end. Now I have two heads. Sigh. Life is hard, being a pencil.
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