[My response to today’s prompt from The Daily Post:
Trio No. 3. Each of the three required “ingredients” will appear in boldface.]
The can stood sentry-still on the shelf, to the left of the plastic margarine casket and the right of a leftover pasta dinner from last week. Aside from the sonorous hum of the compressor, the can was surrounded by cold black quiet, like a dark night in the frozen north. Suddenly the refrigerator door opened, splashing the can in white light until it was grasped, taken without protest out into the brilliant sunshine, not resting again until it was placed (still unopened, its carbonated essence agitated but trapped within its confines) on the picnic table. Condensation from the summer heat welled on its exterior, then trickled down its sides like tears.