autobiography of a donkey hundred words
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I AM the poorest of all the animals and am kept by the poorest of men. I am fed on the dunghills. I am loaded with very dirty or worthless things to be carried from one place to another. I did not enjoy life, even when I was a foal. I was sold to a potter, when I was six months old. He kept me in the compound of his house, with a rope fastened round my neck. But, one day, he loaded fifty big pots on my back and led ache and I tried to sit down. But the potter began to beat me with a thick stick, and I could not but move on. In this way, I had to carry pots to the market every day, and to return home in the evening, with my master sitting on my back. But he did not feed me well, and I went on getting weaker and weaker day by day. At last he sold me to a washer man. He was no less cruel than the potter. He led me to the river every morning, with a big bundle of soiled clothes on my back. I went on grazing near the bank, all the day long, and returned home with the same load in the evening. He fed me very nicely, but felt that I was too week to serve him well. So he sold me away to a sweeper, now I that to carry heaps of filth, from one place to another. My life is very pitiable, and I long for death.