Pie was their pride. The whole town of Pi
had a whole festival, called the Pie Festival, where they celebrated the holiness of the pie one day of the year.
Some pies were rather holey, and had
areas where the pie filling could be seen: delicious cherry filling or a tantalizing
vanilla cream. Some pies had no holes or pockets, and only had a fetching layer
of pumpkin atop the small pie crust.
Not everyone likes
pies, though the town made it a law that everyone was to enjoy pie without exception.
One small boy, Charles, thought pies were disgusting because they were too crumbly,
too sweet, and just really an unappetizing mess.
Knowing
of the boy’s unfavorable views of pies, the town felt defensive. “Why not? Why
don’t you like pies? Do you not believe that pies are not good for us? How can
anyone not like pies”
“I just think they’re yucky…too much
fruit in them”
“What about the sainted Crème pie?”the
high chef asked.
“Yuck, you mean
something like a Boston crème… No, I like cake far more.”the boy said,
disgusted that anyone would try to force him to eat gross pie.
The feast was coming up, and Charles’s
admission caused a scandal for the whole town depended upon unanimous,
unflinching agreement that pie is the greatest food. Their whole town depended
upon this love to win the favor of the great pie god.
“What will the Pie
God have to say about this?” the high chef protested. “Do you know what
happened the last time someone had unbelief in the goodness of pie? We could
all be baked alive by the great heater in the sky, which carries far more heat
than our holy ovens.”
The
town people argued for hours, and many of them started alleging that the boy
was a cake demon, a minion of the insidious “Devil Cake.”
“Haven’t
any of you heard of what the Devil Cake seeks to do? He wants to have dominion
over what we freely elect to eat,” one concerned townsperson fretfully
mentioned. All the townspeople grew even more terrified about the unfolding
events. What was the devil cake concocting this year?
All the
townspeople were relatively serene, quaint people. Like anyone, they were
susceptible to the foibles of human irrationality when the pie of their life
was being threatened. When the feast came, they all started gathering ingredients
for the scheme they were cooking up. It was a whole different type of pie, one
that would hopefully sate the Great Pie God’s hunger for wholesome pie.
Poor
Charles was only walking back to his home, before the irate townspeople
snatched him away. “STOP.. What are you doing? Sue, Phil, Uncle Todd, I know
all of you so well. I just don’t like pie…”
“Shush your heathen talk, the Great
Pie God is listening; There will be chaos, if we don’t have everyone in town
show their unwavering devotion for pie. You don’t believe in the holiness of
pie or the supremacy of the Great Pie God in our lives.” The other townspeople
agreed with Sue, who was Charles’ own mother. She had got caught up in the
craziness that she had forgotten that it was her own son that she was allowing
to be baked alive right before her eyes.
All the
townspeople looked starved, as they pushed little Charles into the tribal bowl
used for the creation of the sacrificial pie for the pie fest..
“Actually,
this works in our favor! The Great Pie God purposely created Devil Cake only to
further his own divine plan. Also, he has a far bigger appetite than he has
ever had. This depraved boy can be used for the good of community, for the
greater Pie God will certainly savor our bounty.” The high chef proudly yelled
aloud to the fervid crowd.
“Yes, we are so willing to give
one of our own to appease his hunger. Bless the Great Pie God! WE LOVE PIE!!!” Charles mother added.
“Mom, MOM MOOOMMMM”
Charles became distressed, as he was sealed into the viscous pie batter. His
screams resounded through the batter, and only a garbled whimper could be heard
from the batter choking his breath. Eventually, he stopped breathing altogether,
and the batter with his lifeless body in it was placed in the oven..
Caught up in the hysteria, his mother
began silently praying for the Pie God to accept the sacrifice of her own
sinful son. The town hardly knew that they were talking to themselves, praying
to an imaginary Pie God that really was the poltergeist of their own villainy. They
silenced everything “different” from themselves, and baked them alive every
year. Inevitably, they’d be the ones eating the sacrificial pie themselves,
since there was no Pie God to even serve it to.
Ironically, the
differences of those people they ended up baking was a part of them once they
ingested it. There was always some small shred of that unholy difference that
remained a part of each one of them.
After
the pie came out of the oven, the townspeople ate the pie without reflecting on
any of this. They were hungry, and they were starved to satisfy their hunger,
and deny altogether the reality of their frantic lunacy. They needed to escape
reality; security in life was fleeting. Only pie can bring wholeness, and
anyone that breaks that secure wholeness must be eradicated.
Once
the pie was eaten, the people fell into a gratified stupor and fell asleep.
Nobody ever thought of Charles. The preservation of the ideal that pie was
infallibly good must be preserved at all costs!
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