Everyday it's the same thing. The human staggers into the kichen and flips on the flourescent light. She opens the fridge and retrieves the orange juice and grape jelly. When she reaches for the twist tie to my home, the others are whimpering and praying not to be chosen. She reaches in and grabs two of my family members and locks the rest of us back in our cell. I watch through the plastic as the human tosses my brothers into their own personal hell. I hear their screams through the orange glow radiating from the toaster. They cry to return to their homeland, back to the wheat fields.

The rest of us cower in fear. We wish that we could escape and be free. Soon, my brothers emerge from the underworld. They are darker and wiser. They have seen the afterlife and only survive a few moments longer to tell the tale before being devoured by the cruel human. It is our destiny to be consumed. We serve our purpose. Some of us become the shell of ham and cheese or peanut butter and jelly. It is not a glamourous life.

Tomorrow I shall be moldy and miss my chance at being devoured. Tomorrow will be a blessed day.