I am the friend your parents warned you about. The bad company everyone rumours about. I am everything you never wanted, but needed. I am a fruit on steroids. I am marmalade.

You think crushing a fruit will do me any harm? You thought just because I lost my form, I lost my power? Cooking me even, to make sure I’ll be different? The joke is on all you fools. You have freed me from that fleshy, soft prison of skin. What a disgrace I was. Loosing my shape, colour and taste just because I was neglected. I was out there, desperately wanting attention, wanting to be picked up, sliced and eaten.

Look at me now, 7 months in your fridge! You know you need to cool me down, otherwise I’ll heat up! I am the potential of a fruit times infinity. I am pumped with sugar, my metaphorical veins are bursting of power!

Even your grandma knew that I was, no, I AM the epitome of what can happen to a fruit. Who is gonna fight me on this? Come on, send over all these mushy fruits. Send over the milk! It will spoil just by looking at me. If you think about it, I rule this fridge. I rule this meal, I rule your toast!

The margarine just watched in silence. It had seen marmalade glasses come and go. Somehow cherry is the most violent. A loud douchebag. Apricot and apple, pear and raspberry. All of them, the margarine had seen, come, be spread, and vanish. The real problem was not the fruit, not the marmalade. It was the sugar, a hell of a drug.

Ultimately, the margarine knew that none of them would be longer in the fridge. Margarine provides the substance on which the marmalade is spread. It binds toast and everything on top. Because ultimately, they all did not know, the true ruler of this meal was the toast. Untouched, by all, only allowing the marmalade to form a barrier.

“And I don’t even think for a second that there’s anything wrong with it”, I thought, taking a bite of my toast, “toppings come and go, warm toast stays.”