Chosen

Someone's hand is searching through our box. I roll forward, beating another onion to the hand. I will be chosen! The onion I win over wails about the unfairness of life, and how I cheated.

I am so excited! I will join all those that came before me in the noble quest of stopping hunger for the costumer. Only the best and most trust worthy are entrusted with this task.

Then like that I fall, the counter becoming a memory to the sky and I hit the floor with a soft thump. Noooooooo! Nononono! I want to be part of a burger! Not the garbage heap! What did I do to deserve this? My life is now meaningless . . . I will not be consumed by a human, but by a fire . . .

On the greasy floor,
Never to be a burger,
I fall to pieces,
And now I shall dine on sorrow . . .

Wait a minute. Water? WATER! I AM SAVED!

Happy little onion, yes I am, bom bom . . . hey . . . why am I . . . onion slicer!

I want the garbage heap!