I was made aware to the sound of another potato conversing with me.

"Psst Perry," my best tuber Pam nudged me, "Perry, They're taking me next!" The horror of reality then settled in.

We had been locked in that frozen cubicle for ages, sometimes people opened it up to take out some of ours but we never saw them again. They took them by order, batches, Pam's group was next. No one knew what happened outside the place we were left in.

There would be a few times where we heard the silent cries of the potatoes for help, the sizzling of oil in the background. It was just rumours and an overactive imagination, no one believed them.

I was part of those that did not think they were true, the calls for help. Being skinned, washed, shot through blades at 65 miles per hour did not break us. Though we were now sticks, our resolve had not faltered to the point that we called out for help.

But Pam, oh Pam. The only friend I had in this infernal cursed box. The one that listened to my woes, helped me through tough times — like the time where I was distressed after being cut up — and the one I could count on to make me feel happy again. Now, sent away, how will I last this time not knowing what would happen?

My conscience could not help but think those rumours true, the humans doing something so bad that the potatoes would call out for help.

"Will you be okay?" I answered, a hint of worry encapsulating the question. Both of us knew that Pam would never come back, never come back to this box where I would stay until they came for me.

"Don't worry, nothing bad would happen. I will wait for you wherever the other side is," Pam calmed me down. It's just a rumour, nothing will happen to her, it's just a rumour. I told myself that again and again wanting to believe what I had said. I had never believed those tall-tales but my subconsciousness and the fact that Pam was going to be affected did not allow me to go back into that state of obliviousness.

The time had come.

The lid vertical to gravity swung open, relieving us of the cold for a little. While others relished the feeling of warmth that came with an open lid, I panicked. "No! Don't take my best friend away, please..." But my literally silent pleas did not affect the human in any way. They continued to take Pam's group out, shouting orders that I did not bother to comprehend. I was so distraught about Pam getting taken away I did not notice the consoling sound of "Perry, it's going to be okay."

All I wanted to do was to let out all my juices, but the coating stopped me from doing it. We all had been coated in a mixture of what I knew to be sugar and 13 other additions. They stuck to us like the shadows we cast.

Then we were heated up, cooked. It was never a nice feeling, I hated that memory for it was just so uncomfortable. Let's not talk about it. After being put through that agonising heat, we were put into an uneasy chill which I then conveniently lost consciousness to.

After all that, we appeared in this icebox of doom and have been here ever since.

One by one the groups of potato went.

One by one we counted our days till a change of scenery.

The unmistakable 'pliak' of the heavy lid opened. Warm, dank air greeted us yet again. Shouts of "No!" could be heard from those around me. I was the one lonely potato in the corner, hoping to see Pam again.

I blocked out all sound as best as I could, not wanting to overload my senses on the things the humans were yelling at a crazily loud volume.

We were dropped.

Into a tank of boiling oil.

The ultimate challenge of how loud a potato could scream was on. Howls of agony resonated in my hearing.

This was what the previous batches of buddies screamed about. This was what broke their resolve.

All we wanted was to get away from the heat of being cooked again. The oil sizzled and popped, our coatings of chemicals didn't help at all.

We jostled round the big metal net that the humans put us in in the tank of oil, slipping and sliding over each other for the oil was just too slippery.

What would happen after? No one knew.

After the eternity spent in that thing, we were hoisted up, then shovelled into packets. "Aah!" The sounds of tired potato roughly hitting the packets drowned out my pessimistic thoughts.

We were then left hanging on a rack above the oil, the potatoes were shivering — in fear. What would happen? No one knew. Only time could tell.

I searched for Pam, called out for my partner but no answer came. The potato around us said that Pam was taken away to somewhere. Am I going to ever see Pam again?

I didn't know how long I had been there, above the stuff of death but suddenly I was whisked up and away onto a tray.

Now I know what all of this was for. The person taking away my tray signified as much.

They were going to eat me.

I would be disintegrated, losing my consciousness forever.

Was this what had happened to those that came before us? Was this what happened to every single potato I grew with in the land we came from? Is this our purpose, to be eaten?

Then, last I saw was entering the black hole of death called a mouth. It was filled with saliva, breaking me down.

All I knew was the name of the group that had skinned me,
washed me,
shot me through blades at high speeds,
cover me in sugar and other chemicals,
half-fry then freeze me,
store me in that cold box for eternity,
took Pam away from me,
deep-fried me yet again and
packaged me for people to eat:

McDonalds

(1039 words)

You have no idea how fun it was to write from the perspective of a potato in McDonalds, ready to become a french fry on our trays.

reposting lol why did I take it down last time