One piece of toast popped up. Why wasn't the other piece of toast popping up? It was late toast. I bent over the toaster to see if the toast was coming up. Bam! It hit me in the face. My face was covered in...sprinkles? I hadn't put anything on my toast before I put it in the toaster. This little piece of toast was disobeying the rules of toast. Didn't it know there was a department of torture, especially for pieces of toast like this one? I shouted "You're under arrest, for breaking the laws made especially for toast!". The piece of toast said nothing. "Answer in the name of the law!" I said in a business-like way. I hate people who don't answer when they're spoken to. They just sit there staring blankly, and then they realise someone spoke to them, and then they say, "huh?" So annoying... "Do you know what , toast? I know you're just waiting for me to reach out my hand to get you and eat you up, and just at the last minute, you'll run away!" I spoke directly to the toast. "But I'm smarter than that." I ran out of the kitchen and got Widdle-Puddle, my dog. I pointed to the piece of toast. "Widdle-Puddle, fetch!" Widdle-Puddle got the toast and almost snuffled it up before she saw the look on my face, and dropped it at my feet. I jumped in the air, and with a war-cry, belly flopped on to the piece of toast so it couldn't get away. I rolled over and grabbed the piece of toast with both my hands, grasping it firmly. I popped the piece of toast in a lunchbox and walked down the hallway, opening the door. "Harrison! Where on earth are you going?" screeches Mum, from the living room. "Oh, just to the Department of Torture" I say, as I casually stroll out the door.
It is warm, with a fireplace, and it smells like butter. This is the courtroom for toast. It's underground. Here I am. I sat down and waited, and a big block of butter, about as big as I am, entered the room and sat down at the judges table, followed by a dozen or so pieces of toast. The toast sat down at the jury table. "Why are you here?" boomed the butter. I told the butter my story. "Let us take a look at this piece of toast" said the butter, after listening closely to my story. I took out the piece of toast and held it up. "Why did you break the laws of toast?" asked the butter. "You know very well that you are not supposed to develop any kind of topping in the toaster". The piece of toast sat in silence. "Guilty or not guilty?" roared the butter. "Answer in the name of the law!".
"SPEAK, SPEAK, SPEAK, SPEAK!" chanted the toast jury.
"All right, all right, keep your crumbs on" said a small voice.
"Who said that?" I asked
"I did" replied my piece of toast
There was a collective gasp from the jury table.
"You spoke? You broke the law! No common piece of toast is allowed to speak! SENTENCED TO DEATH!!!!" screamed the butter. The toast was led off to the department of torture, crumb-cuffed*. I look at my watch, and turn to say to the butter "I have to go" but the butter is gone.
I hop in the elevator, back to ground level. The school bell goes, in the distance. Groan! I'm going to be late! I rush in to the classroom , 5 minutes late. "Why are you late? asks my teacher. I sigh. This is going to be a long story... "Well, Sir, first, my piece of toast was late, and then developed toppings in the toaster, which as you know, is against the decree for young toast......"
*hand-cuffed, but for toast
