Answer:
Autobiography of a walking stick: I had my birth when people were nearing their death. It is sad that it had to be so. But I suppose, birth and death are not in our control. Anyway I am happy that I got the chance to come into the world of men after a wood cutter brought a piece of log to a businessman who makes walking sticks in his factory. The businessman bought me for a pretty cheap price, but sold me for an attractive amount to a wealthy old lady who asked him for a special walking stick. The businessman sang my praises, talking about my durability and light weight and made me swell with pride. But alas! The old lady died within a few days of buying me and I was confined to the darkness and loneliness of the loft. My gilded handle rested in a comer until the old woman’s granddaughter had a fall and started limping. Since the doctor advised her not to put weight on her right foot, she started using me. She dusted me and made me shine all over again. How nice it was to take care of the young and pretty girl! Not many walking sticks that were around had the privilege. But lo! The young are not as careful as the old… She threw me around so carelessly that on a fateful day I was broken into two unequal parts… I lay in a comer again waiting for a carpenter to join me and bring me back to circulation. But that did not happen. When the family shifted to a new place, they dumped me with all the other useless stuff… Oh! How I wish I were a branch on the tree, alive and kicking, instead of lying slump in a comer!
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