An 9th grade paper of mine that I found

"The World From the Viewpoint of a Pencil"
I am created when the wood from the tree is sent to the factory and I am manufactured. Packaged in a box, I am sent to and offce supplies store where I am bought by an anxious mother for her child's first day of first grade.Clutched in his sweaty hands, I am taken to school. He steps into the classroom and sharpens my blunt end into a nice pointed end. Shyly, he walks to his desk and writes the alphabet. It's not really fair. Other pencils belong to algebra teachers, college students, and scientists, but I get stuck with the snot-nosed first grade kid who chews me to a pulp with his baby teeth. He presses me so hard to the paper, my tip breaks off and he has to resharpen me. This happens so much during the day, by the end, I am a little stub, not even big enough to use again. On the way out of class, he throws me ine the trash where I am later taken out and burned.


Wasn't that depressing? I can't believe I wrote that only 1 1/2 years ago!