I started like any other watermelon. I planted then grown on a vine. But then a witch cursed me, well, not me, the farmer. But the curse affected me, too! Now I can talk and walk, and I want to get eaten. I don’t want to be some super melon or something. I just want to be a normal watermelon that gets eaten by some kids at soccer practice. And yes, I know oranges are normally the fruit of choice, but I deserve a shoot! But this stupid farmer won’t sell me to some grocery store. NO! I am being sold to some scientists so they can run some science stuff on me. Well, I don’t want that to happen, so I am leaving. I plan on escaping the day before the scientist comes. I then shall roll my way to a grocery store and hopefully get eaten by some kid with friends! But the farmer is smart and has put me on the highest table. So if I try to roll off it, I will smash into a bunch of tiny little pieces! Ok, maybe I should town down the dramatics, but I am just really, REALLY mad. 

I look around the table, looking for the softest stop. I saw Jessy, the dog. She can also talk because of the curse. “JESSY.” I loud whisper over to Jessy. She lifts her head and looks at me. “Come over here!” She walks over to the table and looks up at me.

“What?” She asked. I then roll off the table onto her. “OW!” She shouts. I then carefully roll off of her onto the ground. “Why did you do that!? You weigh like 100 pounds!” 

“Thanks for laying it onto me gently,” I say, standing up. Jessy rolls her eyes.

“FARMER! The watermelon is trying to escape!” Jessy yelled. I tried to run away quickly before the farmer came. I ran out the door and into the field of wheat. I then lost my feet and started to roll down the field. The field must have been on an angle because I just kept rolling. 

I soon rolled over to a nearby park. I stood up feeling dizzy when I saw them. The perfect family. Probably a single mother with a 12-year-old daughter, a 9-year-old son, and a newborn whose gender I couldn’t see. She was with her friend, who was probably also another single mother. She had two sons. One was 12, and the other nine were a girl and a toddler. I saw that they had a bag filled with fruits and vegetables. 

I carefully ran over to the bag and hopped in. Waiting to get eaten.  After a while, the two 12-year-olds see me. They pick me up and smirk. “This is perfect,” said the boy. They brought me up to the top of the playground and yelled. “THERE SHE BLOWS!” And dropped me, leaving me to a bunch of small, little, unbeatable prices.