A TOAST’S PURPOSE

While I was sitting in my chair last night, I gazed at the small, crocheted toast that my wife had given me. It says, 'A Little Toast to Your Accomplishment.' You did it. It was a gift she had given me for my new job and my latest book. And a spark of an idea hit me whilst I stared. I wrote a concise flash fiction story. Then said Well, what should I do with this. Well, I decided. I'll share it with all of you.

A TOAST’S PURPOSE

The toast sat abandoned and overlooked, grown cold in its birthplace. The toaster. The small kitchen was hushed except for the steady hum of the refrigerator and the faint tick of a clock marking neglect.

Hours crawled by. In the chilling air, the toast questioned its fate. Its mission had always been clear: to nourish, to sustain, to bring warmth to the human table. Yet the people had ignored that mission. What should he do now, stranded in silence atop his gleaming cradle of chrome and wire?

As the light shifted across the counter, shadows stretched and folded. He waited, hope gradually thinning as silence pressed in. Yet, within that growing emptiness, a single thought flickered like the memory of heat: Maybe now. Maybe they will finally eat me.

At last, the woman entered and neared the toaster. The toast’s crust almost splintered with joy, or would have, had he not already stiffened from hours of waiting and brooding. Her hand descended; she lifted him from his cradle.

For a moment, he believed, hope blooming at her gentle touch. But as her eyes scanned his blackened surface, her mouth curled in quiet distaste. Realization struck. He had no purpose, only unused potential, entirely reliant on others who had let it go to waste.

He was destined for the bin.

In despair, the toast crumbled. Crumbs scattered from him like bits of lost hope. The woman spun, startled, as a blur of brown fur streaked across the floor.

The dog leapt. Jaws opened, eyes wide, and snatched the toast from her hand. In that tumultuous moment, surprise surged through him, eclipsed quickly by joy as he flew through the air, cracked nearly in two, and landed hard upon the tiles.

At last, teeth and tongue found him. The warmth returned.

And in that fleeting instant, the toast knew:

He had served his purpose.