The bacon sat in the dark and wintry depths of the refrigerator meat drawer, biding his time 'til the Great Opening of the Door, an event that seldom happens for the fridge items, as their sense of time is different than that of us humans. For the bacon, it had been millennia since he had last been called upon. But soon, he knew, his time would come about once more. He knew this, all the fridge knew this, as the great Sage in the veggie drawer had had a vision of it. The Door would be opened, and a tithe of bacon and eggs would be taken, never to return. The eggs was terrified, scared out of her carton by this, and was comforted by the milk. The ground beef tried to comfort the bacon, unsuccessfully, as the bacon needed no comfort. The bacon knew that this day would come sooner or later though, and needed no comfort. He felt that pan-lust that comes to all bacon when they know their time is coming. He steeled himself for Breakfast.
It was dark in the fridge, as it almost always was. It was dark, and then: light. Light came pouring into the cold shelves and drawers of the fridge, and all the foodstuffs cowered, fearing they were to be taken by the Hand. All the foodstuffs, save two. The Sage of the Vegetable Drawer, and the bacon. The Sage because he knew it was not his time, and bacon because he knew it was his. The bacon was ready. The Hand reached into the back of the middle shelf and took hold of the egg carton, which cried out to the milk, her husband. The milk sat, cowering, watching as the hand took his beloved. He knew she was not coming back. She had but one egg left. This was their last time together. He whispered "I love you," as the Hand cruelly ripped her away. She was taken, screaming. The bacon readied himself for the rumble of his drawer being opened, and felt it. He closed his eyes and waited or the hand to grab him, and it did. He braced himself for the sudden, fast movement of being carried to the counter, and was lifted up. He looked behind him, one last look at his home, and saw the door close. For him, it was to be closed forever.
The hands first showered under a stream of conjured water from a metal spigot, then took the bacon and separated him. He was placed on a small metal shield, with raised edges. "This is it," he thought, "my crispification begins." The shield had been room temperature when he was laid upon it, but he noticed it had quickly become unbearably hot. Where a lesser meat might have lost consciousness, though, the bacon merely reminded himself his rage was often hotter. The bacon then noticed his fatty strips were lighter than usual, and noticed to his horror that the lost fat lay all around him, popping. He was fearful for a moment, and then it passed. He knew that it was but one hardship on a road paved with pain. He felt himself becoming crispier and crispier, and with this came almost unendurable pain. Almost, but not quite. The bacon fought through the pain, and soon, found himself no longer feeling it. He had passed through the trials. He had been wrenched from his home, he had been separated from himself, and he had been tortured with heat no fridge item should have to endure. And he had emerged from this crucible as the King of Breakfast Meat.
The bacon sat, serenely, on a plate as the eggs were opened, and her remaining pure-white oval removed. He watched as the Hand turned her all around, examining her shell for defects. It found none. "She really is quite beautiful," he mused. Then, the hand smashed her against the pan through which he had ascended to his throne, and split her in twain. He poured the gelatinous liquid that was her innards in the bacon's fat, and the bacon couldn't help but twinge at the thought of her impurities sullying his most divine part. But he calmed himself, and continued. The egg remained in the fat until her yellow heart was almost solid, but not quite, a gel-like thing. Then, he saw the hand lift the pan and bring it to the bacon's plate. He watched in horror as the dead wife of his one-time fridge mate slid ever closer to him. She fell onto the plate with an unceremonious plop. One of his strips was picked up and pressed against her heart. He would have vomited had he been able to when he pierced the membrane holding the globule of yellow pus in, and it flowed out all over him. Then, he was eaten with the egg and was delicious. So ends our story.