Hello, My Name is Backpack
Every morning, I get yanked off the floor, slung over a shoulder, and taken to school by my human. She’s always in a rush, stuffing my insides with big, fat books. I mean really fat. Some of them are so thick, I swear they’re trying to make my zippers burst. And let’s not even talk about the weight—my poor straps can barely handle it!153Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMa1ll6tKW8
The worst part? Most of the books she carries are horror. Spooky covers, creepy titles, stories that send shivers down my zippers. I don’t want to know what’s inside those pages, but since I have no choice, I’ve picked up a few terrifying details. Shadowy figures lurking in mirrors. Dolls that whisper at night. Monsters hiding under beds. WHY does she like this stuff?!
Every now and then, she throws in something different—books like Flunked, Sky Shade, and Keeper of the Lost Cities (which, by the way, she’s completely obsessed with). But then she also insists on carrying around Hide n’ Seeker—which she claims isn’t horror, but trust me, IT IS. I have to sit next to that book all day, feeling the eerie energy seeping through my fabric.
And it’s not just books I have to deal with. Crushed snacks, forgotten papers, and random trinkets live in my pockets like unwanted guests. There’s a broken pencil in my front pouch that’s been there for months. A gum wrapper from last week. And a single sock—why is there a sock in here?!
But even with all this chaos, I wouldn’t trade my human for anyone else. Every day, I get to go on adventures with her, carrying her stories, her secrets, and (occasionally) her half-eaten sandwiches. It's not a great life, but not the worst one either.
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