The Story Called Bread Imagine a prison. There is something you know that you have not yet told.

Those in control of the prison know that you know. So do those not in control. If

you tell, thirty or forty or a hundred of your friends, your comrades, will be caught

and will die. If you refuse to tell, tonight will be like last night. They always choose

the night. You don’t think about the night however, but about the piece of bread

they offered you. How long does it take? The piece of bread was brown and fresh

and reminded you of sunlight falling across a wooden floor. It reminded you of a

bowl, a yellow bowl that was once in your home. It held apples and pears; it stood

on a table you can also remember. It’s not the hunger or the pain that is killing you

but the absence of the yellow bowl. If you could only hold the bowl in your hands,

right here, you could withstand anything, you tell yourself. The bread they

offered you is subversive, it’s treacherous, it does not mean life.

Kernel: It makes you think

What?

Where?

Why?

Expanded sentence (Make it into a full sentence):