I am Won and this is Der. We baked this morning. We belong to the same loaf but were divided by a thing sharp gray metal thing. Now we are just 2 of 20 or so slices in a loaf surrounded by clear plastic. We were shuffled to the wood shelves; no real consideration was shown for us. I’m so bored, but Der thinks we are serving a higher purpose here. He claims we’ll be chosen as if we are fated to be here. So many people passed us by with the clattering of metal and crabby youngins.
Finally, this mumbling, incoherent lady with eschew short tan hair, picked the bag up by the end like a smelling sock and frowning, we were dropped roughly into the cold metal cell. It was pushed forward. A small thin paper envelope of sorts is added to the metal jail cell. The thin product introduces itself as Ruby – she produces a berry drink. I was told so anyway. The metal cell moves again.
This section is cooler. Two silent products are added to the noisy metal cubic cell. Ruby thinks that freedom is as near as the front of the store. The moment of my concerns is that very near spot. Der isn’t worried and Ruby very but she won’t shut up. The others don’t talk even when we are shuffled down an electric track of black and placed in a brown paper sack. The group of us leaves the store in solemn silence.
Later in the room of our fateful end, the loaf and two silent products are drawn from a chilled space. Marjie, a stick of margarine, is the first to change shape as the tan haired lady places her on the hot frying pan. I felt the heat from the burner and I am reminded pleasantly of the place of my birth.
So, how I did I get stuck to Der? Der blamed Margie and certainly her melting helped fry Kraft. Kraft has many siblings and each one is individually wrapped. She is orange in color. We were dropped into this white heated box until we were no longer soft but crisp and brown. How odd? The lady placed us on a white paper plate. I was smeared the remains of Marjie and Kraft. Then I was flipped on top of Der. That’s how I became a WonDer Bread with melted Kraft Cheese sandwich. The lady called her youngins, “Lunch.” Should I be worried?