The Creative Writing of a 12 Year Old Boy

I awaken in a small dark room, my brothers, squished up against me. They have not yet awoken. I hear a loud THUD, THUD, it goes. Then very suddenly I am bathed in a shower of light. I am rudely handled by strange beings. I am being moved. I see a small red box, covered in blood with a hole just big enough to fit my head into. Then I am thrust towards the hole. As I am inside the hole, I hear the great WHRRRRR of motors spinning blades. My head is being whittled into a point that exposes my spine. I pass out from the pain. I get jerked awake by the movement of someone pulling me. I feel my head and my spine is whittled into a sharp point. I see a white sheet, and I am thrust towards that sheet. My spine is pressed up on the sheet and rubbed back and forth in a seemingly random pattern. After what seems like hours, I am put back in the box with my brothers. Resigned, I rest for tomorrow, and the continuing of my life as a pencil.