[5: The refrigerator -- write from the perspective of something inside] The light springs on. It gets warm. Too warm. I don't like it warm. Suddenly, it's quiet, the whirr of the cooling equipment has stopped. There's a rattle. The glass walls of my house shake and knock together, making a horrid noise. I hide under a bottle of katchup. Did I guess right? That bottle won't be chosen? The bottle moves, and I start to panic. I can't be seen, the light is too much. I slide down and around the bottle, trying to be small. False alarm. The mayonaise moves, then the jelly and the salad dressing. More loud clanking. I freeze, I'll be seen if I move. A jar of nuts is lifted out of the back. The temperature is still rising. I can see my friends huddling behind the milk, trying to stay in the shade. The door closes again, and blissfull cool pours in again. It's dark. It's safe. For now.