I threw away my heart today. I ruthlessly chucked it into a dirty, rat-infested dumpster. I watched it crack and crumble with tears drying on my face. I saw it tumble into a puzzle, waiting for me to put it back together. I snatched up the pieces and shoved them into my pocket. They fell endlessly past lint, forgotten candy wrappers and loose change, into the chasm of the lost. The pieces fell into the deepest darkest corner, and then cowered there like a beaten dog. They clanked together in my pocket, crying out a song of agony and reminding me, I once cared. My brain was one of survival and knew not to let that awful thing into my chest again. But the pieces still jingle a loose change song as I walk down the halls.
(this is the paragraph I'm basing my Call Of the Wild story off of, so tell me what you think?)
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