My friends are being taken, used, and then just tossed away. They drag us out of our hiding place and scar us with graphite needles. I hope that I will never be taken, unlike hundreds of my colleagues. In the back of my frightened mind I know, one day I will end up like the others; beaten and tossed to the side in a large, plastic grave. The darkness is deteriorating, never knowing when they will tear me out of my metal prison. The only warning is the brief light we see before another is seized. I feel a pit in my stomach, I think today is my day. I feel my haven moving, and the dreaded brightness comes. Who will be abused today? I feel pudgy claws wrap around my body, and I am being slid out of the bars. I have no control, it is my turn
