The Toaster Strudel

My Love, The Strudel

I greeted the morning with a large groan. There would be nothing to look forward to today. Another boring day, in my average boring life.

Then suddenly, I shot up with joy. A jolt was sent through my body as I realized that in the corner of my freezer, sat the one and only thing that really made my day.

What would that be?

The toaster strudels.

Yes, the smooth, sweet, jelly filled delights instantly filled my mind with an overwhelming satisfaction. I jumped out of bed and ran straight to the kitchen.

I couldn't wait for this moment. The toaster strudel was the highlight of my morning, and my day. It was what made my entire life. The strudels completed me.

Gently, I tugged the door of the freezer open. I could feel the icy cold on my face. It was welcoming, as if whispering, "come for your strudel, little one. It awaits."

The freezer was half filled with boxes of toaster strudel. I shot my hand in, reaching for an open box.

The bright color of the box and the beautiful image of a steaming toaster strudel made my heart happy.

As gracefully as I could, I went to put my toaster strudel in the toaster oven. I could hardly wait. Just touching the strudel made my fingers tickle with happiness and caused my heart to beat just a little bit faster. I could feel the butterflies in my stomach setting in.

When suddenly, the most horrendous thing happened.

The toaster oven did not turn on.

With a puzzled face, I curiously, and somewhat angrily, checked around the oven to see what was wrong. I found that a black smoke was flowing out the sides.

I felt something drop at the pit of my stomach as I tragically realized that...there would be no toaster strudels today.

I fell to the ground. My hands flew to my head in a frantic exasperation. I could use the microwave but....no! They would not taste the same!

As clouded as my mind was, I searched and searched for a solution to the problem.

I felt tears sting my eyes, threatening to set free. My toaster strudels. Everything I had been looking forward to. They were my everything and now their sinful luscious taste was just out of my grasp.

The frozen toaster strudel still sat on the counter, staring down at me with a pleading emotion.

When it hit me that my strudel must be in more pain than me, I completely lost it, and started bawling.

I must have bawled for hours. I know I was late for work. I didn't care. If I didn't have my toaster strudel, what was the point?

Then I saw the daylight of my situation. There was a bakery a couple blocks down from my home, my favorite bakery may I add, that sold toaster strudels.

I became happy once more. Ecstatic with joy and bounteous with bliss, I jumped up and almost ran to the bakery.

Hardly able to contain my excitement, I walked in. I look over to the corner where the toaster strudels are.

There was one.

She was steaming hot, and beautiful. I could already taste the sweet white cream drizzled over the soft layered bread, trailing to the sweet center.

She was mine.

In an angry flash, everything I had ever wanted was stripped away from me, and I was left bare.

The strudel was gone. Stolen right in front of me.

I watched as the man who bought the strudel handed it to his pig of a daughter, and she ate it down in a haste. So messy, so improper....I cringed.

And after I cringed, I cried again. There was no hope for me now.

After that, I didn't hear myself scream. Or my head smashing through the glass. Or the frantic screams of people. I couldn't recall being taken away by strange people in funny uniforms. All I know now is that I want my toaster strudel, and nothing has been provided.

It is the tenth day of deprivation. I know, because they come every morning to give me food, and after that I scratch another line into my skin. They placed me in a soft spongy room that only makes me crave the soft strudels even more. I begged and cried and screamed for a strudel, all i get is bland oatmeal.

I hate my entire existence. I only crave the strudel. It is the only thing that keeps me sane. I think that these people think they're doing the right thing.

But, how would they know? They don't crave the toaster strudel how I do. They don't know about the deep love I share with the pastry. They don't know.

No one knows.

Except, of course, for the strudel.

But I can always visit the strudel, in my dreams, yes?

But unfortunately, sometimes you have to wake up.

In a lonely, tragic world, with no toaster strudels to fill the empty hole in my heart.