[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.