Through the eyes of a kettle

The task was to write about a morning through the eyes of a kettle.

At 5.00 a.m. every morning, the maid would pick me up from the side table and carry me to the kitchen sink. She would take off my hat and hold me under the tap. Then she turns on the tap to let the cold water to gush through my hatless top and fill my body.

of Lose, Loss, Lost, and Loose... Oh, the misery!

Wearing a supposedly loose tunic top that is in reality too tight for my liking, I tried to lose myself in the crowd hiding from my loser friend, Zalore. She loses her head every time she sees me because I am the only friend she has.