Stuck in a Pickle Jar.

Indeed I am. No holes to breathe oxygen. No escape from the sharp glass prison. Nothing but me, pickle juice, and a half eaten pickle. You see, I got a little hungry and had nothing but a pickle to chomp on. Why is the lid screwed on ever so tightly? If only I could twist it open with a mighty force, but I am too weak. I am unable to open it. I dream of escaping one day, to be free from this torture. I hallucinate the day I have the courage and strength to release myself from this agonizing boredom of being stuck in a pickle jar .