The guns are shot
The war is on
People are dying
I kill two people
I hurt my leg
But I keep going
I put in my last bullet
There is only one guy left on the other team
I shoot the last bullet it hits the last guy
My team wins the war!
We are so happy
Every morning I get up from bed
And I get out my two beautiful hairpins
I walk out to the street with them
I show them off as my hair flows in the wind
My hair and I truly enjoy the hairpins
Look at my hair now, much better
The beautiful colors of fire red, dark sky blue, paper white, grassy green, rusty silver, and bright gold
I’m so glad I went to Kashgar on the Silk Road
These hairpins really show my personality:
Bright, pretty, and colorful
Everyone’s after my hairpins
I have to sprint home to get away from those grabers
Even the rich man down the block is after my hairpins and I
I feel like a movie star with those beautiful hairpins.
THE END
It is dark in my holding cell. Finally after all this time. He is here.
My owner in his shining armor. I am ready to fight. He takes me to the Battlefield.
The armies are ready, I watch the enemy charge. Bang I am thrust into an enemy soldier. Bang it happen again and again and again.
Oh no, my owner is struck in the back. He is dead.
After 3 or 4 hours the battle is won my former owners army is victorious.
Someone else picks me up. And the cycle starts over again and again.
My owners die but I live on forever.
Ahhh! A sword slashed my hand. My blood is pouring down. I bandage my hand with a nearby leaf.
I try to knock out the leader of my enemy with my weapon.
My bandage falls of like a hard rock off a mountin and the blood keeps falling onto the ground.
I thrust my weapon it hits him hard on the chest. He pulls it out and struggles to throw it at me but does.
I know I will die but I want to die to win.
With the last of my strength a take my sword and plunge it through the leader.
He dies and I laugh I’m not sure why.
I see my bright red blood on the ground.
I die. I win!
I have a very, very boring life
Especially for a dagger
Normally
You think a dagger
Has…
An exciting life,
A crazy life,
A dangerous and frightening life…
But I don’t
I sit and stare
At thin air
(Read on …)
An old man from China who made other vases made me.
I was in his store for a long time.
Then my maker sold me to a merchant.
He traveled far and wide, trading objects for objects.
Finally he traded me, for a sword.
My new owner was young, but he knew his way around the desert.
It was peaceful for a while but then 5 people with swords attacked him.
They stole me and killed my owner.
Then they went to Europe and traded me for sword.
Now I lived with a queen.
I lived with her for as long as I can remember.
I could only faintly remember the workshop in which I was made.
I was traded to another trader.
The queen thought the vase that I was traded for was more beautiful then me.
I thought different.
My new owner went around for a few years but died on his way to Kashgar.
And then I was left alone.
I help the parade guard by threting the people
They stay back when I point at them
They’re scared
The parade guard keeps me in his hands
They are really warm and smooth
He makes sure that I don’t hurt anyone
But that they don’t ruin the parade
At the end he puts me away
And in the next parade
I do the same thing
My decorations look Asian but they’re from persa
And now I sleep
For the next parade
I am a tile,
Made of clay,
I was found by some third graders,
I was dug in level 2 and square a,
I have some leaves,
Then all around me white dots sleep soundly and won’t wake up,
I am also a bird flying over the waves,
I have some flowers blue and white that like branches around them,
(Read on …)
I’ve traded this silk, for this tile.
What do I do with it now?
I put it up on the last empty space on the wall.
In the shape of a star, that is the shape of that last, lonely, empty space on my wall.
It’s there for decoration, also for my collection of tiles.
With this last tile, my walls are full, and my house starts to glow.
In the inside, on the outside.
And even the rich people want my tile.
Because it’s part of my house.
My tile, my wonderful tile.
I am an astrolabe
Made
Of bronze
Made by a blacksmith
With iron
Tongs
A wealthy merchant paid
For me
To be made