"What makes you think," challenges a crepe,
"That you can just arrange me, serve me up and consume me? Am I not human? If you prick me, do I not bleed?"
I blink, fork in hand.
"That's strawberry juice," I point out.
Orange juice burbles, "You have taken me from my fruity womb, and poured me into this glass body, where any may stare at my nakedness!"
I have never encountered a modest breakfast drink before.
Strawberries moan, "You have rent us, and thrown us upon strangers, to die!"
"You're a fruit garnish!" I protest. "I just got up! What is this?"
"You see us only through the prism of our utility to you," whispers the entire group. "You see us as less than you, as existing only in relation to you. Shame, shame..."
"And you have made us party to it all!" shriek the plates.
"But I'm hungry," I plead weakly.
Whipped cream implores us sweetly, "Can't we all just get along?"
I drink some of my coffee, and am denounced as a murderess and a heartless savage.
The stand-off drags on.
"You are getting cold," I point out.
"We are frozen in our resolve, impenetrable in our determination," declares breakfast.
"Look here," I say, "It's early. I brought you into this world and I can take you out!"
"Liberty! Equality!" chants breakfast.
"All right. I've had enough. Time for the Ultimate Weapon!" I set the plate in the microwave and turn it on.
I laugh dementedly.
"Our younger siblings, lunch and dinner, will avenge us!"
And then it is silent, except for the little bell dinging.
"Ask not for whom the bell tolls," I intone, setting my plate back on the table. "It tolls for thee!"
I begin to eat.
My dog looks up at me accusingly.
"Et tu, Bosco?"
He licks his lips.