I'm Bêtô

8

Thus, the problem is not with the shirt and the pants. They are just a means for me to express my freedom and contemplating freedom when I can't chew them.

  But I have my way. No one is willing to give me an opportunity, I create it myself.

  I approached the coat hangers fastened to the wall while the family was away. And use my snout to push a small chair right next to the wall.

  On it, I jumped up and down continuously. Still in complete despair. When I jumped up, my snout and the hem of the trouser leg (is sewn fold inside) weren't too far apart. Only one palm away. Probably only half.

  But just small distance, I know it's a great distance until I grow up a little more.

  That day, I wrestled with a "tired" height, to no avail.

  Finally, it was like someone lit a candle under my skin. My narcissism burned. For the final jump, I launched with all my might.

  I bit those pants. It and I fell together.

  I fell faster than the pants, completely out of balance. My head was facing down, not in the style of a dog, and bumped into the edge of the crockery pots below very hard.

 Blood spurted out, I guess, for as I groaned, my eyes followed to a red streak that was serpentine across the floor. Before falling asleep, I seem to be painfully thinking: Is it possible that in order to have a little freedom, I have to pay the price in blood?