A pinata horror story

     It was a bright sunny day at the park. It was about 80-90 according to the thermometer in the car, but the heat had no effect on me, for I was a pinata. I was purchased earlier that morning for a little boy's birthday party. It was a costume for most people to celebrate a friend's or family member's birthday. There would be food, activities, and cake, but for my kind, the piñatas, it was a day of pain and suffering. We are merely created to give children joy, and stuffed with sweats to give them a reward for destroying us. I have heard horrific stories about birthday parties, and now I was going to be in my own horror story. I began my accent up the tree. I knew there was no chance of survival. I seen dozens of kids with bats ready to beat me to the point I break into little pieces, just for my sweat insides. After a few seconds, even though it felt like hours, I made it the spot the adults felt fit for the children to be swinging at. The first child came up to me with a bat in each of his four, three fingered hands. He was green and scaly, but was relativity small for his age. He stood at a height of eight feet, four inches, so he would have some trouble reaching me. As he cocked his arms back a large object came down from the sky. It was black and white and had something on the side of it that said N.A.S.A. with the most Repugnant smelling black smoke coming out of the back. Everybody started running for there lives, for nobody as ever seen anything that could fly that wasn’t circular. I don’t know what it was, but it saved my life and I was extremely grateful.