Cinnamon Toast Between Enemies

The one and only part the onieth

The toast gleamed dully in the late afternoon sunshine.

I know. Right now, you must be asking; Toast? In the afternoon?! This is high treason!

But, nonetheless, there dear old Grave sat, perched on a fluffy stool in Cannibal's kitchen.

The toast shifted a tad, crunching as it gave a deep sigh.

"Will you just eat me already," it moaned as one of Grave's flat, ploppy tears plopped flatily on his face. "We've been sitting here since nine o'clock this morning!"

Sniffling, Grave shifted its head to stare numbly at the now- cold toast.

"No."

"Why not?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Then you leave me no choice." growled an unexpected voice.

Grave's eyes widened in shock.

"Cannibal!" it hissed.

"The one and only."

"What are you doing here?" spat Grave. "This is your kitchen, so therefore it makes complete sense that you're here, so why are you here?!"

"My dearest enemy," Cannibal moved from its hiding spot in plain view a few feet away, startling Grave. "You must put the past behind you and eat the toast."

"Never!" screamed Grave with a hateful glare. "This is the 7405th anniversary of the day the toast left us"- it sniffed sorrowfully- "How could you forget?"

"I didn't!" argued Cannibal.

"Yes you did!"

"No I didn't!"

"No you didn't!"

"Yes I did!"

And on and on it went.

The toast gave another heartfelt moan.

"Could this day get any worse?" it asked the pomegranate sitting a few yards away.

Strangely, the stupid little fruit didn't answer. Stupid.

The toast toastily turned and took a toasty, tearful glance at the two terrifying tenemies. There they were, arguing back and forth about the price of lilac- orange wallpaper these days. Stupid.

"It's time to take matters into my own hands," it sighed deeply. "Though, the fact that I don't have any just made this a whole lot more difficult."

Leaping from the counter, the toast located the still-plugged-in toaster. It switched the machine onto its highest setting, and hopped inside.

"Ahh," it gave yet another sigh, this one of pleasure. "I do love me a good toast once in a while!"

Too soon, it was popped out.

"Now!" it clapped its non-existent hands. "Let's get some butter!"

With the beautiful music of the two enemy's arguing encouraging it, the toast took one gigantic leap, and latched itself onto the refrigerator's steel handle.

By using its supertoasten strength, it plucked open the heavy door.

"Hmmm... hmmmm... hmmm," hummed the toast as it busily rummaged through the fridge. "Aha- it spotted the butter container- "here we are!"

It leapt across to the dairy compartment. Unfortunately, fridges are not made for leaping across, and as the toast landed on the butter container, the door slammed shut.

"Well that just made things a whole lot more difficult."

But not being one to think negatively, the toast decided to pry open the butter. Big mistake.

"Nooooooo!" it cried. "Why does this always happen to me!?"

For all that was left of the butter was a measly half container.

"I... I guess I don't have enough butter to complete the job." it sniffled with heartbreaking toast- snot bubbling out of its nostrils.

But suddenly-

"Stupid Grave," yelled Cannibal, the sound nearing the refrigerator with each vowel uttered. "I do too have exactly three slices of cheese left!"

It furiously unclosed the fridge door, rummaging in the cool compartments and seeing that it actually had four slices of cheese left. It snarled in anger.

Seeing an opportunity, the toast snatched the butter and flung itself back on the ground. Crumbs billowed off of it, but it didn't care.

Cannibal stomped back to Grave, resuming the argument. Stupid.

Just when the toast was about to give up on being eaten, it spotted the seasoning drawer.

"I wonder..." it tapped its non-existent hands against its non-existent chin.

Spotting a long strand of dog hair sitting a few feet away, the toast grabbed it, lassoing the drawer handle and opening it. Taking another strand of hair, it surveyed the seasonings.

"Ah." The desired one was snatched.

The toast then strapped its burdens onto its non-existent back and climbed up the cliff to the counter. Hard work.

Thankfully, a knife was already set on the counter, coated in some green goo. Probably kiwi or something. Hopefully. Probably not.

So, the toast set to spreading gooey butter onto its back, enjoying the sickening crunch of crumbs. Once the deed was done, it whisked open the seasoning container; cinnamon sugar!!!

It vaguely remembered something bad about this particular seasoning in the back of its crumby brain, but decided to ignore it.

"Now," the toast hopped back onto its comfy plate. "I'm ready to be eaten!"

It split itself in two, shoving one half into both arguing mouths.

"Mmmm, yummy!" crunched Cannibal.

"Delicious!" munched Grave.

They smiled as they swallowed.

"You idiots!" screeched the toast from inside their tummies. "I forgot- you just ate cinnamon sugar! If you don't get it out of your system in approximately two minutes, you'll be forced to die 48 times! Even worse- it's incredibly itchy for me!"

But they took no notice.

"Heyy," growled Grave. "Yours had more cinnamon sugar than mine!"

"Nuh-uhhh!"

"Yah-huhhh!!!"

"Ugh," ughed the toast. "Now I see why that toast you ate before left you!"

It was a low blow, but the enemies didn't hear it.

"I'm so done with this!" it snarled, and leapt out of their dumbfounded mouths, running off into the deep, dark, cinnamon-toast-eating world.

They never saw them again.

Or maybe they did.

"Nah... they didn't."

Wait. Who said that?