The Worst Live(s) Ever

I screamed as immense heat rushed into my face, a horrible burst of air like a windstorm above a volcano. This is the end, I think, the very end of my short life. 

I compiled a list of mental swear words as the metal pan seared against my body-or my consciousness, rather. I couldn’t see myself, just watched and felt the whole scene from above.

Ah, the pan. My metal coffin. I had only just recently put two and two together (or “oh look, some banana bread going into a hot oven yum!” and “OW IT’S HOT IT BURNS” together) and now could pleasantly enjoy the smell of banana bread baking. 

It smelled like death. 

I bore the pain as best I could, and when the oven finally opened, I felt relief wash over me. Cold air blew into me, and two hands covered with ridiculously large baking gloves pulled me out of the oven. Time passed in an odd fashion- I saw people, heard voices, watched them move into the dining room. A knife bore into me and pieces of me were scooped onto plates. 

I watched the final crumbs of my body dwindle, until, soon enough, everything turned black…

~

My vision came back to me like a curtain being opened before a window. I glimpsed shining rows of plastic trophies set up neatly on a table. At the end of the table lay a dingy, old and rusty-looking trophy. It looked unwanted, and I laughed. I was not the participation trophy! YES! A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

An adult walked by and touched the participation trophy, moving it to the side. With a groan, I realized that I, in fact, was the participation trophy. 

I couldn’t get a break, could I? 

Rows of expectant children sat in plastic chairs with their parents standing off to the side. I watched the trophies meet eager hands, one by one, until only I was left. One small child was sitting in the last chair, her fellow trophy-receivers all gone, and she sniffled as her mother brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. When at last she went up to the table to pick me up, her eyes were watering and she looked scarily determined. 

“I. Can’t. Believe. I. Have. The. PARTICIPATION TROPHY!” She looked furious as she gripped me tightly in her hands. Her mother looked weary as the girl raised me above her head.

I only just realized what was happening when I was thrown, pinwheeling, onto the floor, exploding in a burst of plastic shards, my vision once more clouding over. 

~

And so it went on like that-a plant with an inconsistent owner who ends up dying of thirst, a dog biscuit ending up in a puppy’s mouth, a speck of dust sucked into the black void of a vacuum cleaner. I could tell you ten stories, then more, but we don’t have time for that, do we? 

What I’m trying to say is that… yes… I did return to a human state! What joy in having arms, and being able to speak! You would not know how much you take for granted, but as a person who has lived the life of banana bread, I was ever so grateful. 

The moral of my story is, I suppose, the forty-ninth time’s the charm. Don’t give up.