The toaster waits patiently, silently waiting as its engine roars for a taste of the bread, signaling the waiting at the starting line. It wasn't long before the lady came up to the toaster, and dropped the bread into the metallic mini oven of the racing track. From the opening of the toaster, the two slices of bread starred each other down from the starting line, determined to reach first.
The woman pressed down on the level to signal the beginning of the race, as the flag holder waves his flag from inside the toaster. The pieces of bread descend into the depths of the toaster, and the race was on.
The heat flashed on like the stop light, as it turned from red to green with ease. The race was on, as the flag was brought back to its resting place.
The heat from each side of the toaster raced in their cars, speeding into the the pieces of bread. Both sides wanted to win their call of duty to win the race for first. Nothing else was acceptable, first was the only necessity. The cars slammed one by one into the slices, as a brown, outer, crispy layer revealed itself.
Both sides struggled to heat up the bread, as the pit-stop became crowded with workers, screwing wheels back into the cars, and racing themselves to get their fellow allies back onto the road. Once finished, each driver slammed onto the gas, and drove a straight path into the toasting bread.
The heat intensified, time was quickly running out, and the toaster was now filled with nothing but anxiety. Faster and faster, groups and groups of the moving automobiles slammed into the bread, desinigrating into it. The crispy outside was starting to become a perfect brown outside, one that for sure, would signal the checkered flag for her taste buds. No one wanted disappointment. Now was just not the time. Nor should it ever be.
That was when a siren sounded, signaling the end of the process. The last cars of intense speed created the last bit of warmth of the toasty treat. That was when the toast sprung up and out of the station, like a Boeing taking off with its passengers of the warmed wheat.
Both slices of not bread, but toast, popped out of the toaster, as the fine lady held a plate in her hand. To her delight, she picked the slice that popped out of the left, and gently put it on her plate. It seems that victory has been decided amongst the rough competition.
From the battleship, known as The Refrigerator, the lady open it up, revealing the storage that was hidden from the sight of the civilians in the toaster. From the highest of the shelves, the tank of military strength, known to only The Refrigerator as "butter."
She set the plate on the table, and opened up the tank. From there, she launched her massive missile, also known as the "knife," directly into the tank. From there, the missile came back up to reveal the buttery defeat of The Refrigerator.
She laid the butter onto the toast, as the cold as the chill the toast felt when he was just a lowly piece of bread. The butter was all over him, the very blood and destruction of his his allies. It was a frightening sight.
But it would all be worth it. The lady opened her mouth wide, and prepared to take the piece of buttery toast to the checkered flag of the taste buds.