Nick the Strip of Bacon

Hello. My name is Nick, and I am a strip of bacon.
Living as a strip of bacon is not a happy life. The first dawn of light was a cold, icy bulb. I was trapped in a box, trapped with other bacon strips. I was extremely cold and scared. It seemed to be a giant refrigerator. Some shoppers were examining me, and picking me up once in a while. Once I was out, however, I was warm! I looked around me and saw other people, with torturous metallic carts, taking more victims to torture.
These creatures also got their hands on others, for example, yogurts and bologna, and many more that I can’t remember. In my cold universe, there were also sausages, chicken cutlets, hot dogs. I couldn’t really concentrate on anything. I was afraid. I was cramped in this plastic box with a bunch of my own kind. I was so hypothermic and numb, I have no idea how I remained alive. I am a clannish bacon strip, and feel uncomfortable with other meats. Life was not good, yet it was going to grow into something much worse.
My package was picked up. In front of me was a bearded face with a toothpick in its yellow teeth. The beast had a fleshy extension from the top part of his side that was grasping the underside of my package. That was his arm. A hairy limb that meant my doom. I expected to go back into my frozen realm, yet, the frost on my sides that had started to melt, did not freeze back. Instead of feeling warm and cozy, I grew nervous, and fearful, fearful of the unknown.
I had never been out of my usual freezer. Then suddenly, I was dropped into a metallic cart! I was so startled by it, that I had a shiver down my body. My cart then scraped across the floor, and went to a white table. I tried to just relax. Shortly, my box was put on a big table and a strange woman pointed a laser at me! It scanned me. I had a price, after all. The thing had to pay for me. Then I was thrown into a plastic bag, hanging at the bottom. I lost consciousness for a short period of time, probably, from stress.
I woke up, warmer and flaccid, and I was on a table. The same man appeared, and I started to panic. I couldn’t move, no bacon strip can. He took a knife, and at that point, I was so terrified, I thought I was turning into turkey bacon. The fat slob, who bought me, cut open the thin sheet of plastic separating me from the air. I felt different, and warmer. Even though I was warmer than before, I wanted more warmth.
Maybe I should be more careful for what I wish for. Abruptly, my fellow bacon strips and I were picked up, getting into contact with the man’s hand, and were put in a pan. I was immersed into a hot bath of thick sizzling oil. Bubbling boiling- my train of thought abruptly skidded to a halt as I realized the horror of my end of days in a greasy pan.
I was being fried alive! I now prayed for my shivery home in the freezer. I was fizzling. When I was about to smolder my side completely, I was flipped to the other side. Right before the other side was blackened, I was put on a plate. Oh, how sore I felt, laying there, still sizzling from the heat!
I did not notice my bacon brothers’ distress. Perhaps I was the only one who could experience pain? Was I a unique strip of bacon? If I was, then the divinity should save me from my inevitable death. I will lay there on a bare plate with a chipped lip, motionless, and will wait for the sign from above. I should be spared and not be eaten, as this is the end that I foresee for my poor body and soul.
The man, this hairy armed giant, proceeded with melting some Kraft cheese, (my neighbor from the other refrigerator) and poured a generous glop of the goo on top of me. The glutton reached for a fork, and then it finally happened. The divinity took care of me. The brute lost his ground and collapsed on the floor with a fork still being clutched in his pudgy hand. He crawled to the phone and dialed it. “I need help. Send paramedics, I am having a heart attack…” I heard him croaking.
About 10 aching minutes pained by, until frisky paramedics rushed into the kitchen and grabbed the unconscious bacon eater. One of the paramedics even found the time to take notes of the “menu”. He shook his head when he saw me spread out on a plate, still warm, still appetizing…
The door closed. I was in the kitchen. Justice had been served. The special strip of bacon was saved. It was not an accident. He ate too much of bacon already and this is why his arteries are clogged with bacon’s grease. I am still on a plate, contemplating my future. I don’t know what will happen to me, and when my time will come. But this is my story. And unfortunately it may soon end.
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