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William shouldn't have trusted that herring.

“I'm a magic fish! I can grant you three wishes! Hurr bur bur burr! What a load of bollocks.”

William knew he was being unfair. The fish had been dying, after all. It had somehow managed to get itself fifty feet up a pebbly beach, and would probably have said anything to get back into the water. The transformation had been rather unnecessary, though. William flapped his door open and closed irritably, or what he believed to be irritably. In reality there were very few people able to read the moods of a toaster oven with any reliability, unless it actually toasts something.

William did toast something, every day. Occasionally up to five times a day. He had been found on the beach and transported to the home of one overweight trailer-bound creature he personally liked calling Cletus. Cletus made a lot of toast, that's all William could say. Every morning, toast. Every evening, grilled cheese. Sometimes grilled cheese in the afternoon, and toasted tuna sandwiches for dinner. William knew the smell of burnt tuna would haunt him till the end of his days.

Still, William took a strange sort of pride in his job. If he had only one duty in this new life, then by God he would perform that duty to the best of his abilities. His toast was golden brown, evenly, on both sides. He melted the cheese just right, so that it melded with the bread in perfect harmony. If Cletus ever dipped it in tomato soup, William would have made sure the soup was warm, but the bowl wasn't too hot to carry. His goal was to last as long as he could without being replaced – he did not look forward to a life spent thirty feet deep into a landfill.

His other goal was to be recognized as human, or at the very least sentient. He enjoyed doing his job well, of course, but he was a god damn toaster oven. So he tried to communicate in the only way he knew how. He burned toast.

One morning Cletus took his toast out of the oven and found a skinny black mark across it. “Goddam tost'r ovn takin a shit all over my food,” Cletus said. “Worthless.” He threw the slice in the trash and looked at the other one. The letter A was clearly burned into its face. Cletus threw that one away as well and had a bowl of Lucky Charms, scowling at William and muttering throughout.

The next day, William made an M and managed, through desperate effort, to get H and U on the same side. Cletus threw these away as well, not showing any signs of recognition. William wondered with horror if the man was even literate. Cletus made no more grilled cheese.

William managed M and AN the next day but the effort was futile. Cletus actually struck him today, and William was proud to leave a burn on his hand. He only had once chance left, he knew, before Cletus threw him away. He glowed faintly all night, thinking.

The next morning, Cletus removed his toast to find both the Virgin Mary and Jesus Christ burned into the surface. He got very excited about it, calling his neighbors in to have a look, who also got very excited. The local news reported on this incident, and William eagerly replicated the feat to anyone who put bread inside him. This was his chance.

Surprisingly enough, national news covered it as well. William became a roadside tourist attraction, and Cletus became rich selling all manner of saintly toast memorabilia. “Maybe that fish was onto something,” William grudgingly admitted.

(Note:  This story was created in response to an open request for 'something to write'.  The idea of man turned toaster oven was one of the odder suggestions.)