Woody is a tree. He has no friends and is a loner. All of the trees around him throw twigs and sticks at him, even though the twigs and sticks are basically little pieces of their bodies, like....ew. Woody is short and has many branches. The bad thing about that is children like to climb Woody. Woody does not like that. He tends to shake them off. One time a child was having a grand time swinging from branch to branch when Woody got sick and tired of it that he shook the stupid thing off. (Woody's words not mine). Lets just say there was a lot of comotion in the forest that night.
       Who am I you ask? Well I am just the author of this pewnie story that takes place in a far away land call treeville. Treeville? Yes, I know, horrible name, but whom am I to judge, that is your job.
        But enough about me, lets get back to the story. Where were we . . . . Aha!, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, it was a truely beautiful day, but little did he know it would all go down hill from there.

(A/N, hahahahah cliffhanger!!, but not really.)