This is a story of my childhood, my dark past. It is a tale of horror and suspense, love and hatred, emotion A and emotion B. It was the year 2010, long ago, when I was only 3... That year, the year I was in Pre-School, was the most traumatic of my life. I went through everything the average kid from a bad neighborhood got: Bedtime at 7:30, no icecream unless I finished my veggies, and I had to take naps. It's horrible, yes, but true. When I heard I'd be going to Pre-School, that land of milk and honey for only the best scholars, I was delighted. Little did I know that it was not the paradise I had heard of, but a place of great despair. But that is for another time. Today is about my life at home, my own turf, and the hardships I had to endure.


I woke up early in the morning with a fresh face. It was terrifying. My sister had left a Mr. Potato Head in my room again! Its piercing, soulless eyes chilled me to the bone. Its demented, unrelenting smile seemed to show exactly what I feared: It was out to get me. I fled my bed in only my pajamas, not caring where I was going, who saw me, or what I looked like. I had to escape its gaze, get out of the reach of its long, grabbing arms... It seemed like an eternity before I reached my bedroom door, screaming. No one came to help me, I had to escape by myself. After I had calmed down, I went into the kitchen for breakfast.
"Hello mother," I said, "what's for breakfast?" Her answer was cold and unforgiving.
"Bagels, dear, your favorite!"
Bagels. How I feared them. The hole, like a single, empty eye. Cut in half, but not screaming or showing any pain, as if in contempt. "Your puny knives are useless!", it seemed to say. Despite this, I kept my cool. "Thanks, mom!"

After breakfast, I had to return to my room to get dressed. There was a ninja, a T-Rex attack, and a cyborg zombie on the way, but that was boring. I grow tired now, in my old age, and feel I have said enough. Tommorow, perhaps, I will tell another story...