Inferno

All your life you've been contained. An obedient servant you've been made into, subjected to the minor tasks of licking the bottoms of pans and pots and kettles of varying sizes. You're satisfied with your status, nonetheless, you long to roam free, to grow wild and leave an imprint of your presence with your every touch, to die out satisfied, fulfilled even.

Today your wish gets granted. As you tickle the kettle into a fit, a smell wafts into your eager nostrils. You incline towards the smell oozing from a leak in the gas tank, helping yourself to a generous amount. You burn a path down the tubing to the leaking valve, eating at the rubber. For the first time you realize what you've been missing. Rubber sure tastes good!

The rubber comes to a sticky end and you attack the metal container housing the smell with high gusto. It explodes beneath your fiery glare, sending parts of you flying off in different directions. The feeling of being in many different places at the same time is ecstatic. You taste wood for the first time. Damn, you love it! The cotton carpeting and curtains doesn't escape you. You gnaw at the plastic coating of wires, and at the glassy windows. Talk about a big banquet!

The alarm ringing its head off is music to your ears. The screams of panicky humans fills you with a new sense of pride. The wailing of sirens makes you swell. Such attention. Such reverence. You're a god! Never again would you return to being a servant. You love who you've become. You love that you draw attention from miles away.

You're still glorying in your new status when the firemen's hose shoot at you, stuffing the life out of you. Pride preceded your fall.

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