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It was many many many years ago, about a hundred and forty-eight years to be exact, that I arrived. I wasn’t born here, and that’s my fault in life. So faulty in fact, it will kill me one day very soon. 

I arrived here on a great ship that exhaled black smoke into the clouds. The ship was not only heavy, but enormous, like a misplaced volcano, yet she floated lightly on the seashore. As she puffed into the dusk, the Atlantic ocean threw their best waves at her, but she ploughed through with determination to get to this great little island everyone was speaking about. Obnoxious to how the sea was fighting against us, we sat inside on small chairs in spacious rooms that had tiny elaborate carvings on the walls and ceilings, and everyone’s eyes were on me. I was popular then. People didn’t mind that I was different. They liked it. They told me of how everyone was from everywhere on this little island we were headed to - a united kingdom. 



I’ve seen many great things happen in this kingdom; bright minds and their shiny machines came to see us. After long dinners with polished conversations, I would have my time to shine. I always wondered why they liked me so much back then - I was nothing like them. Perhaps they saw something in me, that they wouldn’t allow themself, but I can never ask them. 

One day Russell, my master, took me out to this park called Regents Park. It wasn’t, but now it is, in the centre of London. There were so many beautiful trees there; Deodar, Black Mulberry and old oaks, from them it rained acorns. Animals I had only seen as stiff centrepieces at the royal dinners Russell hosted now moved with elegance and flocked their wings to stand on the dam. 

Suddenly Russell was nowhere to be found - he had left me there, now all I had was this fur coat

work in process: follow this link to view the messy draft 

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