I am immature. Just a seed, nothing more. My master must truly despise me because he entombed me in the moist black soil. Pure rain water seeps in and tickles my insides as I start to sprout. Sun rays bake my outside like thirteen chocolate brownies in a baker's oven. I continue to grow. I grow past a mole's underground hole. Now, I can again lay my eyes on the stunning outside world with the sublime, smiling sun and the growing green grass.
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The Troubled Pumpkin
PoetryA story of a growing pumpkin that is determined that his master hates his little orange guts! Will the pumpkin be able to overthrow the master? Story Wrote in English Class Last Year - Editing/Adding Once Every so Often
