The Pickle It was twelve thirty in the afternoon, when I was heading to Walmart in the back of a giant semi truck. Everyone in my family was squished together in a tiny glass jar. We were all terrified. Every time the truck would hit a pothole, all the glass jars would shake and even some would fall and break. I had to witness so many families get separated. Finally, the truck came to a stop. I heard the two big truck doors screech open. It was an old man with a long gray beard. He reminded me of my wise grandpa. As he was wheeling us to the shelves to be stocked, one more glass jar falls and breaks. I hear painful screams as the glass hits the floor. My heart is in my stomach. I think to myself, “Why couldn’t I be a cucumber again.” The
