Photo by Mahafuzur Rahman from Pexels

An autobiography is the story of a person written by himself. I myself have written an autobiography which is an attractive one. Infact, I was a fine cricket bat.

I was born from the trees of kashmir about 1500 years ago. The wood of the trees was so fine that the wood cutters had cut down the wood and took it to the bat manufacturing industry. There, the woods transferred into bats. I had thick layer of fish cover on me, when I was newly made. That time, I knew nothing about the outside world as I had no prestige and passion.

When I was made, I lived with my friends (other bats). We were living happily and had no unhappiness or fear. But a sad time came, when we were separated forever. I was sold to a kid. He was very cute and nice kid. He had taken good use of me. I was used by him and his friends. They used to hit me against every type of ball. Then, I was given away to several tournaments. The players used to hit me so hard that I become dead tired. Some players showed opposition towards me. When the match was held. I used to enjoy it. I was also a type of audience only by noting their facial expressions. Players used to smash the ball and the ball cleared the boundary.

When, I was weak enough, I was sold to another man. This man was very kind hearted and a loving person. He also used me gentle and mannered way. He used to keep me at a safe and secured place. That place also included a new and beautiful bigger bat. He used bad and ill words for me. He was bluttering out his passion that he was very worthy of. But I was not affected by his words. One day, I was taken by my master to his shop. I was sold to another man. He was a rude fellow and had heart of a stone. I had stayed with him for about 7 to 8 months.

My journeys continued, I stayed in about 9 person's houses. I moved to different places and countries. When I was in Rome, a master named Rehan butt, used me for tournaments other than of cricket matches. There, a thief broke into his house and stole me and ran away with me.

When I was in the thief's house, I felt so uncomfortable that my heart always thought to be away from him and his house. Then, while he was playing, he missed his shot. I was struck against the wall. That time, my upper part (head as handle) was separated from my body. After one week, I was also broken by a kid and my whole life adventure's suddenly came to an end. Also, my happy days had gone. Hopefully, this is the terrific end of my autobiography.

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