Frozen bread

Another short piece from my workshop series about describing action. The prompt was related to pacing and using sentence length to alter the pacing of action.

The loaf is frozen hard like stone, but it’s a sliced loaf so it’s more like shale than granite and I bang it on the counter a few times to try to loosen some of the pieces apart. Eventually, a chunk of three slices separates from the rest and I use a knife to finish the job, wedging it between slices to release one from the frosty embrace.

They say a watched pot never boils. Likewise, frozen bread in the toaster never toasts.

Until it does.

For two full minutes it stays white, gradually acquiring a harmless blush of tan around the edges. Impatient, I lose focus, fiddle with the zipper on the resealable bag, and return the rest of the loaf to the freezer. When I look back, the slice is browning. Two seconds later, it’s black. Precious, expensive gluten-free toast. Smoke curls. Whip the dial to “off”. Fling open the toaster door. Burn two fingers. Butter to soften it. Jam to disguise the charcoal.

Crunch, crunch.

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