Pies.

Guest post by Linda G.


Ben was every woman’s dream, with his blue eyes, copper hair, and straight white teeth. Strong but gentle. Confident and in control, whether commanding the boardroom or the bedroom. And he was mine. Mine! … Until my best friend Kelly stole him. For days I cried and cried. I felt angry and betrayed. Kelly and I had been friends since 1st grade. After a couple of months I wondered if I should bury the hatchet, but then I heard that they were getting married and I totally flipped my wig. Now I wanted nothing but revenge. Revenge!

Kelly was hesitant at first, but I assured her that I was over Ben and wanted to maintain our friendship and invited them both over for some of my homemade steak and kidney pies. When she and Ben walked into my house, my heart burned so that I thought my chest would burst, but I kept my cool and choked down the emotions. Ben and Kelly loved the pie and I was seething inside when I saw how much they loved each other. As we wished each other goodnight I promised more pie in the future.

A few days later Kelly rang frantically “Ben’s gone. Missing. Totally disappeared. He hasn’t answered my calls for 2 days.” I hurried over to her house and wrapped my arms around her as she sobbed on her living room floor. “I should call the police.” she said. “No.” I reasoned with her “You know Ben is often called away on important meetings. He’s probably lost his phone. Give it until tomorrow. In the meantime, you can have some of the fresh pork pies I just made.” So that afternoon, I dropped off a box of pies to a tearful Kelly, assuring her I’d check back in the morning. “Enjoy your Big-Ben Pork Pies, you bitch.” I thought to myself as I high-tailed it to the city’s international airport.

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The Pipes Produce

This short-story was written for me by blainearcade in return for providing a writing prompt. Please join me in rewarding their effort by heading over to their blog and reading The Pipes Produce.

Excerpt: The mayor, one Herman Lefawn, of Wheatlow, a small town that farmed golden grains for the governing bodies of the Grand Chivalrous Alliance, had endured much in recent weeks. He’d endured his gardeners accidentally opening a hole to a cavern older than sin directly beneath his impressive homestead (all he’d wanted was a simple spot for his chestnut trees), he’d endured the hideous arcane creatures that had slithered out from it, and he was now enduring the worst music he’d ever heard. It will all be over soon, he thought. Better screeching pipes than dragon roars. Smile and nod. Can I even manage both at once through this din? Continue reading →