Pies

“Another fifteen pence on the price, they're getting more expensive every week, that's cos they're getting harder to catch, I think we may be hunting them to extinction.”

John placed his beer glass back on the table and turned his head towards the next table where the voice had come from. The guy who sat there looked pretty ordinary, except for the look in his eyes that was, wild eyes, psychotic maybe? John immediately felt uncomfortable. An almost empty cider bottle was on the table in front of the man, beside a partly eaten pie resting on a paper plate.

”Err... Hunting what to extinction?” Said John, glancing at his watch and hoping that his mates would turn up earlier than arranged.

“The pies, what the hell did you think I was talking about?” The guy's voice rose aggressively. “The goddam PIES.”

“Err... Aren't the pies made in the pub kitchen?” Said John, hoping that he didn't sound confrontational.

The guy's eyes grew even more dangerous looking. “Jeez man, which planet are you on? Pies are wild, and carnivorous mostly, why the hell do you think most of them are full of meat? It's their diet. Some of them hunt chickens, others hunt cows or pigs, pigeons even, oh yeah you get the odd herbivore pie, and some pies seem to prefer fruit, some are even omnivorous, that's how we come to have meat and veg ones.”

“Err... what kind of pie have you got there?” Asked John, trying to keep it light and conversational.

“This is game pie, a particularly aggressive pie I can tell you, they feed on footballers and cricketers, Video game players, that kind of thing.”

“And err... is it tasty?” Said John, hoping that his smile looked at least half way genuine.

“Oh, it's tasty okay, just more expensive than last week, which gets me really riled up, I can tell you.”

John felt the cold tendrils of terror run down his spine as he pushed himself further backwards into his chair. “H..How do they catch the pies then?” He ventured.

“Have you heard of the Pied Piper?”

“Y.. Yes.”

“Well, he was a great pie hunter, maybe even the greatest of all time. He used to charm them by the thousand with his music, and taught other people his skills too. Nowadays it's more commercialised, beaters, nets, shotguns. The pies are adapting too, urban pies are becoming quite common, they feel safer in the city, and safer in numbers too, they gang together, hunt in packs.”

At that moment the pub door opened and to John's great relief his three mates walked in, Charlie went straight to the bar and shouted for four pints of bitter, Kevin and Pete headed for John's table.

“Thank god you guys have turned up.” Said John, already feeling better. “This feller at the next table is a complete nutter.”

There was a deafening bang as the pub door opened again, this time it slammed back against the wall, the impact almost tearing it from its hinges.

The room erupted into a cacophony of scraping chairs, overturning tables, smashing glass and screaming, as through the opening flooded hundreds of ravenous, needle-teethed pastry cases.


©2013 Stephen. J. Green.

Culture

I came across it when I was clearing out the fridge, there it was, right at the back, probably been there unnoticed for months.

I lifted the bowl out and took one look at the fungus that had spread across whatever unrecognisable substance was in there, and headed for the dustbin with it.

That's when I heard it...

It squeaked.

I took a close look at the thing in the bowl and nearly dropped it in shock, a pair of tiny eyes stared back at me.

Oh, not just any eyes, not the kind of tiny-pupilled, squinty, evilly type of eyes, no, but the large, wide-eyed honeyed eyes that only babies seem to possess.

And a tiny mouth too, a tiny rose-bud lipped cute little baby mouth, and between these features a cute little button nose had started to form.

That was eight weeks ago. It's grown up some since then.

It has been moved from the bowl, first to a medium sized cooking pan, then a washing up bowl, a large Tupperware box, and is currently living in a plastic dustbin that I bought for it.

It gets bigger by the day.

It likes squishy things to eat, things easy to get down. Milk, gravy, blancmange, that type of stuff, but its favourite food is jam, not the cheapo supermarket own brand, although it will eat that, it goes absolutely bonkers for the expensive jam, the stuff that has the full, sugary, whole strawberries in it.
The squeals of joy when it sees that label are heartwarming to hear.

I live alone, and had no friends, until now that is.

Oh, I know it's never going to be able to hold down a job, or contribute towards the bills, and it doesn't have much in the way of conversation, but we seem to have so much in common, it really likes watching documentaries on TV, and listening to classical music, it's smart too, a real fast learner, it can already play a mean game of chess.


©2013 Stephen. J. Green.

To be like you

“I feel so hot, the warmth of my love of life is like a furnace burning inside me.”

“I feel so cold, the chill of emotional lethargy aches in my bones.”

“I feel so happy, my joy of just being alive coursing through me, radiating from me.”

“I feel so sad, depressed beyond reason by my crippled heart.”

“I feel so strong, strong enough for two.”

“I feel so weak, every fibre of my being sapped of vigour.”

“I feel so full of hope, I believe I could teach you to be like me.”

“I think I would like that.”


©2013 Stephen. J. Green.

Daisy chain

He sat on the dew-laden grass beneath a huge oak tree in the centre of the meadow. His face a picture of concentration, tongue peeping out between his lips each time he did a particularly complicated part of the necklace.

His thick stubby fingers surprisingly nimble as they wound, twisted and wove the delicate pieces together.

A smile flashed across his face each time he finished attaching one component, and reached to the pile for another.

Sometimes he pulled a bit off to help blend the chain, sometimes used a length of twine to secure a stubborn, badly shaped piece.

Eventually the pile was depleted, the necklace wasn't long enough, his smile flickered to sadness as the disappointment set in.

With a world-weary sigh the troll heaved his immense bulk off the ground, he picked up the huge wooden club, and for the second time that day set off walking towards the nearby village to collect some more bits and pieces for his necklace, about a dozen or so more corpses should do the trick.


©2013 Stephen. J. Green.