I am an eight-year-old boy. I have many toys since my uncle works in a toy store, and I visit my uncle’s toy store every Saturday.
“Hello! Good to see you again,” my uncle said. “Do you want some new toys?”
“No,” I answered. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” said my uncle.
“What would happen if my toys could walk and talk?” I asked.
My uncle asked me, “What do you think?”
“I think it would be really good because I would have many new friends to play with,” I answered.
“I think it wouldn’t be good,” my uncle said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because they would be violent. Look at those Matryoshkas,” said my uncle, pointing at the Matryoshkas. “They will scream at us when we open them.”
I was saying, “But uncle–“
“Look at those monkey toys,” my uncle said, pointing at my monkey toys, as he cut me off while I was talking.
“If they could walk and talk, they would climb above our heads and make loud and strange noises.”
I said, “But uncle–”
He interrupted me again and said, “And look at those dolls and toys inside the box. They would shout to us, ‘Open this box!’”
I said, “But uncle–” I got interrupted again.
“Why?” My uncle asked.
“The toys and dolls are walking and talking!”
Walking towards my uncle, one of the toys, which looked like a conductor, said, “Why do you think we cannot walk or talk?”
My uncle was frozen in disbelief and couldn’t respond.
The toy added, “We can do anything our owner wants us to. And we can stop talking or walking if you want to because we do anything for our owner’s happiness.”
