POV: Bread End Pieces Get No Respect

[Our POV pieces are based on the fictional accounts and direct Points Of View from the subject, or subjects in the matter. Just for off the cuff entertainment. And for fun.]


I just don’t understand it. Am I not like everyone else? Don’t I help carry the team forward? I’m always in the line of fire ready to go, ready to sacrifice myself should the need arise. My partner and I, both on opposite ends of this family, do what’s necessary to protect each and every one of them before they see themselves off to the mouths and stomachs of every human being on this earth battle.

But still, my brother and I, we get no respect. None whatsoever. To everyone else we, and those like us, get thrown away. Relegated to the dark, bottom corner of the trash can, as if by some karmic plan we were meant to perpetuate our last days there.

To this I say, “Why?” Why must we be segregated to this way of life? To be kneaded and baked with love and attention, the warmth of the oven, only to bookend our fellow brethren before we all get bagged and sold to the markets for consumption. What of our needs? Why do our wants go unmet?

I suppose such is my fate, as is with all end pieces. I’ll just quietly walk forward into the line of sight. Whether I am a throwaway or lucky enough to at least be a part of a new group of individuals in the grand scheme of things. Peanut butter? Ham? Turkey? Maybe some Jelly? Or perhaps the multicultural Patè? Listen, I’ll even sacrifice myself in the torture-filled confines of a toaster heated coffin with Butter if it means being made into a sandwich salvation.



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