Friday, February 3, 2012

Flash Fiction #1

Amber knew that her toaster had a secret life.

Ever since she had seen the Disney movie featuring the same appliance, Amber had realized that her toaster was a spy - leading a double life, wanting to communicate with the 7-year-old girl with the little blonde pigtails who encouraged her mother to make toast every morning, but unable.

The toaster had secrets. What kind of secrets, Amber could not be entirely sure, but that there were secrets the appliance was unable to divulge, Amber was positive.

The secret that Amber was most desperate to learn, however, was the toaster's name. Referring to the double agent residing in your house as "the toaster" felt too vague, too obscure. Surely, discovering the toaster's actual name was the first step towards an understanding, towards a friendship.

Every morning, as her toast was cooking, Amber would whisper: "Who are you?" to the toaster in the lowest voice possible, lest her mother hear her and begin her "imaginary friends are not real" speech.

One day, Amber discovered the patterns. Her toast would come out with blackened areas. Her mother thought the toaster was broken. Amber knew the truth. One day, the blackened areas formed a butterfly; the next, a pony.

Amber was so excited - the toaster had figured out how to communicate! Its' name would surely be apparent the next day (fish), or the day after that (circle), or the day after that (stapler)...

Then, one day, Amber's mother plopped two slices of bread in the toaster. "I don't know why you like burnt toast so much..." the woman muttered, walking out of the room to get dressed.

After a minute, the coils of the toaster lost their cherry red coloring. The toast remained in position.

Amber understood - the toaster was shy. It wanted to become friends, and reveal its' name to Amber, but it was scared at the same time.

But Amber knew how to retrieve toast. She had seen her mother handle this situation, and so she went to the drawer to the right of the sink. Opening the drawer, she retrieved a butter knife from its' innards, and headed over to the toaster. She stabbed the knife into the toaster, aiming for her bread, anxious to see name thereon inscribed.

Unfortunately for Amber, she lived in an old house. The wiring was not set up ideally, and those dark coils in the toaster were still quite active. Amber never discovered the name of the toaster that was thrown in the dumpster after the "accident." She woke up in a hospital room, and was shortly thereafter subjected to questioning to ascertain whether her mother was guilty of neglect.

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