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Friday Fictioneers: My Pie Rye

Friday Fictioneers

Dear Rochelle,

It’s late again, I’ve been having far too much fun skiving from my writing as I’ve been visiting Rellies in Edinburgh. When the sun is out in Scotland, it’s a good idea to make hay, or rye as the tale alludes too. I named the piece as a nod to the Thai “Mai-Pen-Rai.” meaning it doesn’t matter or no worries. It has no relevance to the story at all, merely fits a rhythm!

The eye seen across a chess table seemed like a stoned party goer waking up on the floor in a rather formal type of situation, All I needed to do then was crowbar the Ergot in somehow, the rye did the trick in the old nursery rhyme. Anyway, it won’t be late again

The King’s Head Chef had disappeared, some said he went too far with this stunt.

The 24 Blackbird Pie was meant to come to life when they cut it open.

When the Pie was opened the birds had pecked each other to death in a vain attempt to escape the searing heat leaving a gallimaufry of contorted beaks, bones and blood caked feathers.

The Pie’s Rye was heavily tainted with purplish Ergot fungus causing convulsions, hallucinations, and in extreme cases, gangrene. 

Days later a surviving guest drawled,

“That was some Trip man”,

As he brushed back his hair with blackened fingers.

!00 words on the nose, waste not want not.

22 comments

  8. Dear Shrawley,

    Not to feel bad about being late. I’m woefully late in my commenting and replying. So much to do, so little time. Such is the gallimaufry of my life. 😉 Thank you for that word. I shall tuck it away for future usage. Having said that, I’ll say that I’m glad I was not drinking when I read your story for surely coffee would have spewed from my nostrils. Thank you for my weekly portion of laughter.

    Shalom,

    Rochelle

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