Good book was open at the 23rd Psalm as the elderly parish priest followed the procession. His hand rested gently on the shoulder of the condemned. "Didn't get my steak and kidney pies," came the shrill complaint. "Got steak and kidney pudding. Asked for steak and kidney pies!" The clergyman, tired and worn, nodded. "Buckles too tight," was the desperate whimper. The old padre made the sign of the cross and bowed his grey head. "It's homicide," came the panicked accusation. "Death certificate should read homicide!" Her miserable soul was received into the abyss with an assurance that such diagnosis would be duly noted and recorded.
Last Edit: Aug 15, 2021 14:38:21 GMT -6 by FoxxGlove
His subjects called him “the Baker.” A lowly nickname for a king, and absurd: he’d never baked a thing. He reveled in large feasts, however. Long tables set with crystal and silver. Platters of roast piglet, peacock, and porpoise. Towers of fruit from exotic islands. Tarts stuffed with live birds that burst into the rafters upon opening. Cascades of beer and wine. Musicians, fools, and jugglers entertaining hundreds of guests.
Today’s offering was special. A true display of his power. The bards would sing of it forever.
Four and twenty pies. In each, the liver of a traitor, chopped fine.
Last Edit: Aug 23, 2021 9:56:10 GMT -6 by RAVENEYE
"Sorry I'm late," he said, deep lines crinkling around pale blue eyes, a testament to a long life full of laughter. Breaking his Sunday routine, a fellow churchgoer had made a fresh array of pies for fundraising. Marvelous scents filled the room as everyone filed towards the exit, but not many could resist the temptations set before them. He was no exception. He unwrapped tinfoil fitted around the paper plate and pecan pie. "But can it match yours?" He asked the weathered gravestone, then savored a bite. Slowly, involuntarily, tears rose to his eyes. "No one could ever match you."
Yakkios was happy. People from all over London would come for an old fashion pye. He charged only what he figured the buyer could afford. The portly, perfumed, and well-dressed more than the dirty, skinny, and tatters dressed.
He was working late one night, which wasn’t an unusual sight. Filling the coffyn’s before baking. Meaty and taste pyes for the morn. He looked at the pye he'd filled and shook his head. He reached into the pye and pulled out a thumb.
Saying, “My, my what a good boy am I.” He tossed it in the corner, with the others.
Alatariel: Pelwrath, is the remodel a surprise?
Oct 24, 2021 18:03:58 GMT -6
FoxxGlove: Looks like these Halloween entries are going to be sooooooo close.
Oct 25, 2021 16:20:30 GMT -6
Oct 25, 2021 17:05:24 GMT -6
HDSimplicityy: Tonight I learned that critiquing other peoples' critiques is not a custom in some groups. Is that even true? I did it in school and I think we do that here.
Oct 25, 2021 20:02:22 GMT -6
HDSimplicityy: Im not sure they will enjoy reading chapters of my novel every several weeks with the content.
Oct 25, 2021 20:05:42 GMT -6
Alatariel: I don't think I've ever critiqued someone else's crit
Oct 25, 2021 21:08:46 GMT -6
HDSimplicityy: I mean clarifying your writing
Oct 25, 2021 21:43:06 GMT -6
pelwrath: Day 3 of remodeling, kind of a surprise. She know that not what. Get new electrical covers, put molding back, closet shelves, and start assembling new furniture. Wife is refinishing desk.
Oct 26, 2021 7:34:33 GMT -6
pelwrath: I hope to be less tired and return to scoring tonight.
Oct 26, 2021 8:36:37 GMT -6