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Describe a journey. Tossed in the back of a rusty van. Pitch black. Returning now. My skin was brutally bruised and peeling like a harsh sun tan.

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Introduction

Cool as a Cucumber Task: Describe a journey Tossed in the back of a rusty van. Pitch black. Returning now. My skin was brutally bruised and peeling like a harsh sun tan. I felt unusually weightless; something was beneath me; surrounding me to my neck. Frantic shrieks and useless pleas flooding from every direction; the confusion was overbearing. I unsealed one of my teary eyes and desperately wriggled; but success was out of reach. Murmurs; flickers of deep, patronising human voices seeped through the crack between the back and the driving seat. "Profit...". "...69p each...". "Crates..." I unsealed my other eye and it took a while to adjust to the level of darkness. ...read more.

Middle

We had no identity. We never spoke to one another. They were met by other bodies all dressed in the same uniform. Spotlights. Music. People. Strikingly calm. Nevertheless, as nerve-racking as it was it didn't displace me. However, what did was seeing all my close friends and distant family being thrown onto shelves. I was enraged. I was a bottomless pit of fire. Unstoppable. Over there, he was lying helplessly with his hair shaved. In the corner, she was sitting; breathing anxiously, shaking as if it was the middle of winter and the chills rushed past her. And opposite me, the harmless baby wailing in hope to be heard, but only deaf ears paid attention. ...read more.

Conclusion

She cleaned me like a mother would bathe a baby, but before I knew it a huge knife was unsheathed. The blade was sharp and lean, and light glimmered off it innocently. Chop. Chop. Chop. Slice. Slice. Slice. She separated me from my legs and arms and head and torso and threw me in a clear glass bowl. The pain was agonising. Unbearable. Excruciating. Nonetheless, my dying moments were met by some of my friends as they were tortured by the savage blade. Our blood joined. I failed to find my lips to deliver my parting words. However I will never forget what the old lady called this bloodthirsty war. I will never forget the word she used to describe the contents of the clear glass bowl. Our graveyard. A "Salad"... ?? ?? ?? ?? ...read more.

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