Imagine that you are a fruit that has been used to make a juice. Write a story about yourself. Describe where you grew, who looked after you and how you were plucked. Write how you were turned into juice and how people enjoyed drinking it.

As my last minutes approach me, I hope it was all worth it in the end.

It all started on the farm. On our mother tree, who grew us and rationed the nutrients the farmer gave to her. We all loved him, he was very good to the mother trees, like a grandfather. Until one day, it all changed. Us little apples were all picked, by the hundreds, until no one was left. The ones that fell before it happened were trampled, squashed, into mush as their brethren were torn from their mother trees. My source of nutrition, gone in an instant.
We were carted away, to what can only be described as hell on Earth. First, We were put in some horrible liquid. I am unable to describe the agony that I felt as my outer skin softened up, no longer able to protect me from whatever horrors lay ahead.
Now, I am in a machine, watching my brethren get the life sucked out of them. Pressed until nothing is left of their insides. I watch as this horrible contraption gets closer and closer to me. As it begins to crush my once crisp and wonderful form, I wonder why this is happening to me. What did we ever do to deserve this insuf-...

“Wow! This is some of the best apple juice I’ve had!”

“I know right! I’m so glad we came straight to the farm and got it right off the press!”