Tok: Who Am I And How Do I Know?

1029 words - 4 pages

A personal exploration of true human identity, what is human, and why we are human in metaphor form of an otherwise inanimate object.Symbolism Key:Word MetaphorPretzels Human kindOven The world and life on earthBaker GodFair skinned dough YouthOven door Life after deathTimer End of lifeHeat Passing of timeBlackening AgingGroup of Pretzels FamilyHard Crust Breaking an emotional shellBatch of Pretzels GenerationsI can't take it anymore!! This heat is more than I can bear.... how can I escape from this oven of life that sentences me to an inescapable doom beyond these iron walls? I can almost hear their smacking, hungry lips waiting to suck the savor from my soul. Not even my salt will be left, only the odor on their breath, Only my memory.I don't remember my creation, when I was first conceived. In fact, I don't know any other pretzels, who have made such a claim. All I know is what I've been told. I'd like to think that I was lovingly formed at the hands of the baker who hand-placed every grain of salt upon my being. But the fact it, no one knows. What if the rumors were true? That we were all mass-produced, with some ultimate design from a baker far, far away, but who was utterly uninvolved in our personal creation? What if I truly was just randomly spewed out by a factory machine producing 400 others just like me per minute? Would I then still be special?There are all kinds of pretzels around me. Surely, as they say, no two are exactly alike. Heh, I mean, no one is as beautiful as me, right? I can see my reflection now, watch my fair skin glisten in the glass of the oven door. My image obscures what's past the glass...what lies beyond, Sometimes I just think that if I just tried a little harder, just concentrated, I could see what lies beyond this door and look into the eyes of destiny that I feel is staring back at me. How fulfilling it would be to finally know where, and not just that, I am going.But sometimes I don't actually believe that I'm going at all. I mean, I've only been in here for about...six minutes now? When that timer goes off, as it ultimately will, then I'll believe that my time here is up. But until then, I'll only know it. I know it because of those who have gone before me. Tales of pretzels I've never met because they've been taken before I ever got here. I've seen others around me go through that door, but surely not, it could never happen to me.Funny thing is, I can sit here and deny it, but I feel its hungry presence everywhere. It's not time, but the passing of time that I fear, and its evidence is all around me. Even now I can see my skin turning darker, my insides maturing. I am changing. Now it's positive, but a look at the blackened pretzel a few feet in front of me shows me what...

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