This is my fiction entry for the second day of #Barathon 2017, the fornight-long blogging marathon for bloggers everywhere, organised by Blog-A-Rhythm! Today’s prompt is ‘Life of Pie’. I have also used the theme for the challenge ‘seven’ strategically. 😉
The day I was born, I was round as a clock. Perfectly tanned, I enjoyed the fleeting warmth around me. The moment I stepped out of the oven, my mind conjured up plans. Plans of a bright future, decorated with cool whipping cream and luscious cherries.
But, my dreams shattered: a few hours later, you cut me open unceremoniously. No whipping cream to hide my uneven body, no cherries to use as a blush. You cut my whole and perfect body into eight slices, and set me before a party of seven, including you. Each picked up a slice of pie The eighth slice of me, the one I’m using to talk to you, remained on a serving plate.
None of the seven, including you, could find places in their tummies for the remaining part of me. So, you made the decision of letting me a spot in the fridge. No rent, because seven pieces of me had served you so well. You wrapped me in cling film. I remember wondering, “Is this the only part of me to be adorned in culinary finery?”
Although I can see through the cling film, it’s blurry. But, I am blinded by hope. I wait for the day when one of the seven, including you, would come back for the delicious tastes I have to offer.
I do my best to prevent myself from going stale. I have made friends with the atoms and ions in this un-oven-like, cold place. I have found friends in enemies. I have had conversations with curries, sauces, chutneys, chocolates. I have made friends in the most unlikeliest of people. I mean, can you imagine a cherry pie like me, talking to a set of kebab triplets? But yes, we’re the best of friends now.
But, they predict that they would leave the comfort of the fridge tomorrow. And meet their deaths too. Because tomorrow is Kebab Tuesday. They wish me luck, and I bid them a tearful goodbye.
Kebab Tuesday dawns. Ms. Mint Chutney starts praying to the gods of food. Her prayer is simple: admit the kebab triplets into heaven. Listening to her silent sobs and fervent prayers, a thought strikes my head. What if I wail out loud, and one of the seven, including you, hear me? It could be my only chance at redemption. It’s worth a try.
I start rattling the cherries inside me at a frenetic speed. Mint chutney feels annoyed. But Mr. Dark Chocolate understands what I’m trying to do. He unwraps himself in the most appealing way, leaving the baby Tomatoes to cover their eyes in shame. My other friends read my mind. They start shaking lids, scratching labels and sloshing liquids around.
Our efforts are rewarded. Or so we think. You open the door, look at us, and exclaim, “Oh no, looks like all the food in the fridge got spoiled. Again. We’re gonna have to celebrate Kebab Tuesday out today!”