I am adolescent. Just a stem, nothing more. My master must absolutely hate me because he drenched my thin, green body with a potent mist. Insects stay away from me. I wonder why. I look around and see that my family and friends are still growing by my side. They are. Now, I have a distinguished arm. It is an orange triangular shape that gorges me with "all you can eat" buffets of grub every day.
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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
