Brave little toaster- Eliza Jane Schaeffer

I feel as if I'm about to explode. The energy captured inside me threatens to burst through the walls of my container. It's as if there's a perpetual tightness throughout my being- a held breath, a bottled-up scream. I've been like this for as long as a I can remember, and the tension is painful. 

And suddenly, warmth permeates through the metal of my container, my prison cell. This is a change. I feel the shifting movement of my molecules as the warmth, which I assume to be a hand, jostles me slightly. I'm shifting back and forth, back and forth. The sensation is dizzying, and combined with the pressure I already suffer, it is almost unbearable. 

Then the movement becomes more violent. Now I'm thrown up and down, side to side. I tumble and spin throughout my container, smashing against the sides. This is far worse than the gentle swaying motion of before. My world is agony, a garish red. If I was a held breath before, I am now a tornado in a thimble. 

The movement stops, but my pain does not. The pressure has intensified and all I want is for it to end. 

Snap. My container is open, and I am free. I burst, I explode, I am a firework. Bubbles erupt inside of me, turning my liquid body into a violent foam. I soar into the sky like a fountain. And it feels wonderful. I see a gathering of young boys around me, staring in awe at my magnificence. When I fall to the ground, I spread out across the warm asphalt, finally able to relax.