A Fate Most Delicious

[Shenlon]

I wrote this story for ****s and giggles a while ago. As a newbie to these forums I figure you guys would be unapologetic in any critique or whatnot you may have. So Enjoy! Or, you know - don't.

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Once upon a time in a place not too far from here was a kitchen. This kitchen was unique. It held within the latest technologies and the finest instruments a budding chef could ever need: pots and pans in every shape and size; a shiny metallic fridge that was spotless – one could even see their blurry reflection looking back even from the other end of the room – there was a small black microwave that was just as sleek, and right at the centerpiece was the stove/oven combination. Massive, imposing, and more then a little intimidating, the stove top had dials and knobs and whatchamacallits all over. It was a truly awe-inspiring thing. This story makes no use of any of the above mentioned equipment.

It all started deep within the bowels of the fridge. Two slices of bread stood out from the collective loaf; they were fresher then the rest; softer; riper. The two slices were enjoying the cool air flitting through the tiny fenestrations in their soft, square-like bodies. But alas – it wasn’t meant to last. Out of nowhere, and all too suddenly, the mysterious artifact known as The Door stood ajar, and the sunlight that crept through caused a shiver to run through all the foodstuffs; the dark was peaceful and safe. In the dark, nothing could harm you. The light was like a wave of vulnerability; suddenly all the various foods’ weaknesses were proudly on display. The apples that were bruised were also blushing a deep red from embarrassment; the butter that had frozen incorrectly was a horrible disfigured mass of yellow; the leftover lasagna was beginning to show its age. Everything in the fridge had something to hide. Everything that is, but two slices of bread. Perhaps this tale is a warning of vanity, because these two slices proudly faced the front, embracing the suspicious light. Suddenly the fridge was bustling with excitement (which admittedly, doesn’t take much), and a small hand entered. Its size betrayed the malevolent nature behind it; the hand was well manicured and petit, and the fingers were soft to the touch. The two slices of bread didn’t mind at all when they were plucked from the fridge, separated by only one finger as the hand pulled them both out at the same time.

Haphazardly were they thrown on a plate, and suddenly they realized they were not safe anymore. But their outward beauty was matched with a strong spirit; the slices were not cowards, and they faced this new threat back-against-wall. For a moment, there was nothing – not even silence existed for the breads. And then, suddenly and all at once, a large jar of something slammed against the counter beside them so loudly that the plate vibrated. And maybe, just maybe, the two slices wanted to turn over and hide.

They had never met Mr. Peanut butter before. He was on a different shelf and was an entire different breed of food. He was considered ‘high end’ by the other foods and somewhat of a snob. After all, where the modest breads and fruits were wrapped in plastic or their own skin, Mr. Peanut butter had his own jar, with a lid! There were many nasty rumours and gossip surrounding the ‘rich foods’ but suddenly, none of them mattered. They were all in this together. But to the bread, nothing was more worrisome then the look the peanut butter had; true, it was a little worried for itself, but the look it gave the bread was both of pity and deep regret. Had the bread somehow gone back to the fridge, they would have been forever changed, only if because of the look Mr. Peanut butter gave.

But that was nothing compared to what was going to happen next. The two pieces of bread barely had time to think about what was going on when all of a sudden the same, girlish hand picked up the slices and dropped them gingerly in identical, isolated cells. Now, in this case even the most stalwart of the foods would be scared, and to that extent, the slices both did admirably. There was only a little bit of trembling and last minute repentance from God almighty, but the only answer returned was silence. That is, until…

Suddenly the narrow (and stuffy!) slot the slices were stuffed into heated up. The sequence that followed is indescribable in words, but the short version of it is this: each slice of bread, only ever having memories of being cool and moist, was suddenly changing. One could say an evolutionary change. Each piece of bread changed in three distinct ways: first, the soft, sponge-like pores hardened and mildly crystallized; then the aroma of the bread changed from being slightly stale and moist to crisp and reborn; lastly, the entire colour changed in a dazzling rainbow, covering all the spectrums of brown save the darkest and most unappealing. And then, in unison, both slices of bread, ahem – Toast – were brought fourth, proudly displaying their new bodies. A slight ‘ding!’ followed.

The look Mr. Peanut butter gave only worsened. The toast (as they will now be referred to collectively) merely shone on, ignoring what it perceived to be jealousy. Oh how they were wrong. Still beaming with happiness, it paid no mind when it was put back in the plate, and merely shrugged when a simple butter knife was pulled out. The toast grimaced when the knife was inserted into Mr. Peanut butter… but still, they were happy. But good things weren’t meant to last in this world. This especially rings true for perishable foods. The knife dipped into the milky brown too-thick-to-be-syrup and then pressed itself – rather comfortably, like a tight hug – onto the bread. This was repeated for a few moments before, rather morbidly, The toast was to bear witness to itself getting devoured. One half, then the other. Slowly the entire thing was eaten. After the entire, gruesome process was over, nary a breadcrumb was left. A tiny, girlish high pitched laugh was heard, and then the withered peanut butter was put back into the fridge, his battered silence misinterpreted as pride and snobbishness all over again. The fridge door closed…and it was as if nothing had ever changed at all. The moral of this story? If you’re bread, try not to stand out.

[Shenlon]

I have a one bump policy: here it is.

[Tokzic]

I was waiting for the metaphor to go somewhere.

And then it didn't, and I realized there was no metaphor.

[OhLovelyLovely]

Lol, that was cute story.