Aluminum Issues
Anyone who thinks I’ve got it easy is as wrong as the day is long. Personally, I don’t find abuse so pleasant to stomach. Shortly after creation, I was shoved into a box with twenty-three others like me and neglected for three months. After all sorts of turbulence, I found myself punctured open, my precious cargo stolen, and my mid-section crushed in by some great force. I was kicked around for some time, beaten, twisted, destroyed. All this finally concluded with my entrance to a larger box, crammed in amongst various other trashy items –banana peels, coffee grinds, moldy casseroles. I just lost my identity there, ignored among so many other unwanted misfits –not that I ever really had much of my own identity to begin with. I mean, when there are several billion other cans identical to you, it’s hard to really find yourself. How am I suppose to make something of myself? Really stand out? I feel like I’m missing something in this whole existence thing. I just... I feel so empty.
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Written in 10th grade for my creative writing class; it's not really an antique story, so I just stuck it here. We had to stick an inanimate object on a psychiatrist's chair and have them talk about their problems.