I found you on the floor, unrecognizable from your former self.
You could have been a piece of fruit, or a sandwich. Or perhaps even a brownie or cookie.
But sadly, we'll never know.
You just appeared on the floor one day, and while I have my suspicions, I have no proof of where you came from.
You were ignored and walked over for days, until one of us couldn't stand it anymore and threw you away. For that, I'm sorry.
You were collateral damage in a war between a boy who likes to save gross things and his parents, who wish he wouldn't.
I hope you find comfort in knowing that you weren't the first of your kind.
No, you are part of a long line of mystery items in sandwich bags that met the same fate.
And while I can't promise you'll be the last of your kind, I (respectfully) really hope you are.