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I need writing practice. The most efficient way to improve one’s writing is thru writing. I will try to write some stories. All of them will be improvisations.

Just seconds ago, I saw a bunny died on a traffic junction. Why did it have to die? Where was its home and why of all place was he at a traffic junction? Random thoughts start bubbling in my head and I stood there contemplating the significance of the bunny’s death. Too bad, I was standing right in the middle of a busy traffic junction while I pondered on these meaningless faux philosophy. A vehicle, probably a luxurious sports car, failed to stop and ran over me. Now I am a flat pancake, not in the metaphorical sense but a real pancake.

I saw a homeless guy, about 50 and ragged, picked me up and place me on a plate while he traversed through the crowd. When he arrived at his destination, it was a comfy looking flat. He hesitated before reaching the handle but finally picked up enough courage and stepped in to the house. His clothes was now a neat tidy suit, all suave and looked very different from his ragged self just seconds ago. He was met with enthusiastic welcome from a cheery child, his daughter probably. He set the plate down and went to the kitchen for a knife, probably to cut me open. He came back with a sharp knife and began to cut me in half. I am a pancake so I was aware that my fate was to be sliced in half but I could never be prepared enough even though I knew it was coming since I was born, especially so when I was just a human minutes ago. When the knife reached my mid section, I was bleeding, but it was just my blueberry stuffing so I am not technical bleeding. I looked at the girl one last time but now she became a bunny, and I realized that she was dragging me away from a busy traffic junction. Oh look! I have white furs now. Ah! So I was the dead bunny after all.

The end.

I made the story up while I wrote. Many ideas crossed my mind but I always knew that I wanted the daughter to somehow be a bunny. I thought of many ways on how to write a heart warming story about repentance of the old homeless guy trying to grasp whatever he had lost by traveling back to the instance where he most cherished but I scrapped that in favour of some surreal stuff. This story formed very interesting imagery in my mind and I like how they are pieced together but I can’t quite put them in words. I swear there’s a logical story behind it but it can only be explained if you pry my brain open and look at it through my imagination. Ah, how I wished I have a machine that can project my imaginations into actual images but I have to  settle it with my terrible writing.

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