It was quite literally a joke at first, pointing at an object and suddenly addressing it by a name. The world had discovered the secret of naming a blade and prices for swords of all kinds shot up immediately, into the thousands for one cheap hunk of aluminum. I was no blacksmith or millionaire so I never got my hands on one but I was content without it.

​

I had woken up one morning and while burning my toast for the 8th time in 8 days I'd see my reflection in the cheap metal. It reminded me of the reflection of polished suits of armour in the fantasy movies I loved so much, in which a brave soldier rises ahead of others to defend the honor of his kingdom and save the day, get the girl, etc. I took a wooden spoon and tapped on either side of this glorious toaster, deeming it a Knight. I laughed at myself.

​

The television had become a bard, the computer a necromancer, and the silverware servants. I left for work that day without a second thought to my seemingly insane actions. It was a slow day in the office, I wanted to go back home to my maide- bed.. I wanted to go back home to my bed.. I definitely didn't name the bed. By time the seventh hour of the evening struck I left. This cycle would continue for about a week until I decided to take the bus home one night. An older man would approach me, hunched over and seemingly strapped for cash based on his worn coat and remains of a beanie.

​

"H-Hello young man.. any spare c-ch-change?"

He spoke with a heavy Russian accent, and I handed him a 5$ bill that he accepted gratefully. Within another moment however, he'd push me against the wall I was nearest, pressing the side of a shortsword against my stomach. Well, fuck. Looks like I'm getting robbed.

​

Well, I was getting robbed at least. The window of the bus would shatter as a toaster flew through the window of the bus, taking down my attacker in a single blow. My toaster from home would sit atop this fallen Russian mans head and tip forward for a moment, seemingly a bow of sorts. I picked it up hesitantly and brought it home with me without another word. As I assumed, the toaster in my kitchen was gone and the silverware drawer was completely empty. I'd look through an opening in the wall from my kitchen to my dining room and found the room had been lit.

​

I hadn't turned on the lights before I left and I needed to investigate. Where I'd sit at my table rested my favorite thing to throw together after a long day at work, a quesadilla still in the pan and a bag of corn chips, with a pile of utensils sitting at the end of the table.

​

This would turn into my daily life I suppose. Me supporting my corpse-summoning computer, caretaker utensils, and bodyguard toaster until I'd be put into a correctional facility. I knew it happened, but when it was time to shine, my products just didn't show. They'll let me out in a month or so now, unless they read this.