Cakes are the most festive desserts. If there is a party or ceremony, there must be cake. Retirement? Cake. Wedding? Cake. Birthday? Cake.
There is no doubt people love cake. Frankly, the pies are sick of it. Cherry pie has been talking to the other desserts, and they have decided to take action…
In 250 words or less, tell us a story incorporating the elements in the picture. The 250 word limit will be strictly enforced.
Please keep language and subject matter to a PG-13 level.
Use the comment section below to submit your entry. Entries will be accepted until Tuesday at 5:00 PM Pacific Time.
On Wednesday afternoon, we will open voting to the public with an online poll for the best writing entry accompanying the photo. Voting will be open until 5:00 PM Thursday.
On Friday afternoon, the winner will be recognized as we post the winning entry along with the picture as a feature. Then, at year end, the winners will be featured in an anthology like this one. Best of luck to you all in your writing!
Entries only in the comment section. Other comments will be deleted. See HERE for additional information and terms.
But then something unexpected happened. Something wonderful. Apple Pie, a real favorite in Dessert Display City, fell in love with German Chocolate. Their union was a tasty pairing of all that is good on this shelf. I wasn’t long before there was a little one in the oven (metaphorically speaking, of course). Everyone agree that the birth of this new dessert would mean peace in the case at last. The way forward seemed easy as pie or, one might say a real piece of cake.
Trouble started anew when it came to naming the new addition to their growing menu. Apple wanted to call her beloved “Pake” to honor both sides of the family. But German Chocolate was insisting on the name “Cie”, saying that his side deserved top billing.
The situation was bad and only looked to become worse when it was noticed that the little Pakes or Cies were disappearing with every ding of the timer. No matter what you called the result of this union between Apple Pie and German Chocolate Cake, the results were more popular with customers than any of the other desserts in the display case. This meant that the two sweethearts could expect a long and happy life together so long as they remembered the recipe for their wonderful children.
Mad enough to spit pits, Cherry Pie nudged up against the sliding door on the back of the display and heaved with all his might. “Ungh!” The door didn’t budge. He threw his shoulder into it.
The door moved. Only an inch or so, but it was enough. Cherry got behind it and pushed again, harder. The door slid more freely. He rammed it against the rubber stop on the other end.
“Okay, Lemon Meringue, you’re behind Chocolate Cake. Push him out the door! Come on, let’s do this!”
Meringue bumped up against Chocolate, straining to push, but his attempts were in vain. “I can’t do it!” he almost sobbed. “I got no strength!”
“Damn fluffy empty carbs!” Cherry swore. “Rhubarb, Apple, get over here and help Meringue! Come on, put your back into it!”
Rhubarb and Apple both got behind Meringue and they all pushed. Chocolate began sliding toward the open door.
“Noooooo!”
Splat! A cheer went up. But Meringue, carried away by his cohorts’ efforts, tettered at the edge of the shelf. “Help!” he called. He tried to reach out for Rhubarb, but it was no good.
Splat!
Suddenly the door to the back room opened and the cook appeared. He immediately noticed the mess on the floor and came to investigate. Seeing the two desserts splattered on the floor, he gingerly ran a finger through the mess, then tasted it.
“Hm, not bad. Chocolate cake with lemon meringue icing. Hm. I must try that.”
Cherry Pie had made her intentions known to the rest of the pies that very day in a rousing speech. She’d gotten all the other pies riled up, except for one.
Boston Cream Pie had never truly been accepted by the pie camp. They claimed he was a half-breed, but since the word pie was in his name, they tolerated him. He was always picked last when they played pie games involving teams. If they got on one of their healthy food tirades, they’d shoot him sideways glances since he didn’t contain any kind of fruit or nut. And they ridiculed his Boston accent. He was an outcast.
Then, one night, Boston Cream Pie was alone – staring at the CLOSED sign flickering in pink neon as he often did. He heard a “Pssssst.”
He looked over to see Yellow Cake with chocolate frosting peeking out from behind some decorations.
“Yellow Cake!” he whispered, sliding over to her. “You’ll be killed if you’re caught here.”
“I know,” she said. “But we’ve heard that the pies are planning to attack us. I’ve come to guide you to safety.”
“But…I’m a pie.” He sighed.
“We think you’re a cake.”
“Really?”
“You bet.”
When the pies attacked the next day, Boston Cream Pie was on the front lines, defending the cake camp. He was a fierce fighter, plowing through the enemy like a battering ram. He made his way to Cherry Pie and bashed in her crust. Revenge was sweet, indeed.
The Cherry Pies held their first meeting with the other pies and tarts, trying to rouse them all into a pastry jihad against the hated cakes. They planned lemon curd attacks against the cake stands, knocking them off the shelves and onto the dirty floor far below. They would mix angelfood and Devil’s food, cupcakes with Danish, and anything else to cause chaos. The enthusiastic crowd roared with delight!
“No!” came a solitary shout from the back of the crowd.
The pastries slowly parted, as a lone strawberry pie moved determinedly to the front. He turned and faced the staring crowd.
“I understand your pain…I know your feelings. But is this the answer? Won’t even the tastiest war of flake and pudding result in Confectionary Armageddon?”
His voice wavered. “Can we not learn to live together? Can we not leave a world where our tarts can grow up to be delicious for all? I know it is possible! I know it! For I have…” He choked as syrupy tears began to flow. “There can…be love…”
A shocked murmur rolled through the crowd. The strawberry pointed to the door, where stood a small plain but curvaceous angelfood cake, holding a small bundle in her arms. He ran to her and embraced. In their arms, the tiny gurgling of a strawberry shortcake could be heard.
“Please! Let us live in peace! Let my shortcake grow large and bountiful for the people!”
Slowly, but with rising furvor, applause started among the shamed cakes.
When he got to the bakery, he realized that he’d been too clever for his own good this time. The display case was almost empty.
Damn.
It was a delicate balancing act: you had to get there late in the day when it wasn’t busy, but not too late or else they’d be out of the choicest cakes. And you couldn’t go to the same place two days in a row. Someone might recognize you.
If he’d just let me go to Costco or Safeway and get a cheap one…wait. Maybe I can put together enough pieces to make a whole circle. There should be just enough.
Eyes flicking from the Black Forest cheesecake to the carrot cake, he had just about figured the geometry when someone darted in front of him and pointed to the Oreo cheesecake.
“That one, Mommy! I want that one. Please?”
No! His hand itched to drag the kid back by her collar. I need it!
“Sure thing, honey,” the kid’s mom said, and while he choked on frustration, she called the cashier over, made her selection, and bought it.
He’d have to go back empty-handed. This was the last place open, and nothing made the boss angrier than a half-measure. It had to be a round cake. Not a half or a third or a quarter. Round.
Sighing, he turned and walked out the door.
Every night another cake. What does he do with all those cakes, anyway?
Baker gave tribute to the gnomes of the fields.
He didn’t speak of this, it no longer in fashion, yet he poured compost tea onto the earth, pulled competing weeds, followed the old ways.
Pie knew that and so did Cake. Pastries, cakes, pies, bread–they all knew of his reverence. What was he to do about Beauchamp, then, the glutton, who respected only appetite?
At dawn, dew jeweled green wheat stalks as Baker poured the brown tea onto the field’s edge. He asked for guidance, and gnomes stepped from the field, pale green in the late-spring sun.
“He eats until sickness,” he told the oldest gnome, one with woven green stalks in pale green hair.
“Live and die by what you are,” was the response. “Continue as you do,” and so Baker did.
That day the knight waddled into the bakery, eyes falling upon Pie and Cake.
“I’ll take the cherry pie–and the cake with cherry bits.” A pause to lick fat lips. “In fact, I’ll take everything.”
“A party?”
A laugh. “Yesterday was a party. Let’s call today a wake. Yes, a wake for departing spring.”
The next day news came of Beauchamp’s death, of an obstruction, of a wake, one man attending, one dying.
A piece of cherry pie, a slice of cake at field’s edge the next dawn, wheat beer, a pale gold, poured onto earth. Without arrogance, Baker was a pious man and continued as he did.
The cake shop manager stared, wide-eyed at the glass door, which shook with every blow of the fleshy fist of the ten-foot-tall toddler peering in from outside. The ‘open’ sign rattled on its string.
‘WANT PUDDING’ the infant called out again, in clumsy syllables, his voice projected eerily by his massively oversized vocal cords, ‘Want PUDDING… NOW!’
He crouched down, cocked his head on one side, and pushed his nose up against the glass. Snot glistened above his top lip, and his apple-red cheeks were wet with tears.
The owner pressed his hands over his ears as the child launched into a protracted, tonsil-wobbling wail. Two old ladies, clutching their paper-bags of french fancies and macaroons tightly to their chests, slowly inched backwards, away from the door.
‘What is that?’ whispered one, grimacing behind her spectacles.
‘You mean, what are… they’ said the other, pointing with shaking hand to the other side of the street. Two little girls, around three years old and easily twelve feet tall apiece, stood arm in arm, looking towards the shop. ‘Ooh… it a baby! one called out, dragging her playmate across the road towards it. As they neared the window, their focus was instantly drawn away from the baby.
‘AKE!’ yelled the tallest, flapping her giant hands in excitement. ‘Ake, ake ake!’
‘Oooh. Ocklate ake!’ cooed the other, and pushing the boy roughly aside, she reached down and grabbed the door handle…
“Dr. Cherry Golden brought to the chancellorship a vision; a healthy campus, free of health related issues. Knowing her ‘GMO-free War’ would be accepted grudgingly she hired specialty chefs, bakers and nutritionists. Students and town folks grumbled. Bootlegging and black marketing flourished. Slowly naysayers became supportive.
“Not one to rest in the euphoria of her success, Golden launched phase two; her Gluten-free Sugar-free War. Instantly this made enemies of nearly all sweetshops and bakery owners. That’s when picketing and protests began.”
“We go live to Debbie Little at John Wayne University. Debbie, can you tell us what’s happening?”
“Thanks Jamie, tolerance for Golden’s GMO War had been limited because it stimulated revenue for the local farmers. The trouble is gluten-free sugar-fee desserts are going over like a concrete basket on a hot-air balloon.
“America had the 1713 Boston Bread Riot. Now it has the 2014 Dessert Riot. What started as a protest food fight escalated into a frontal attack on Chancellor Golden, driving her and her staff into the building behind me. Students continue hurling cans of fruit juices and healthy snacks at the building.
“George, quick get a shot of that truck. Sorry Jamie, a truck filled with contraband just arrived. Pies, cakes, chocolates … desserts galore! People are stuffing their faces! Here comes the National Guard. What? Oh. We have to move back. This Debby Little at the Food Riot, out.”
“More on this Dessert Riots at eleven. This is Jamie Popover, good night.”
This was drastic action. CP, Cherry Pie to others, we’re that close, had a plan to break into the cake cooler. See that, the cakes even have their own cooler, ya, they’re special.
Well, the displays in the cake cooler are better than the everyday coolers. We’re lucky to even get a stand over here. So ya, CP’s plan was simple. We break into the cake cooler and kick em out. Simple right?
Well, I’m not sure what you were thinking would happen but simple plans never really are. The cakes, they were ready for us. You ever see the damage a cream filled cupcake can do? Ya, it got real up in the cake cooler. Cream filling everywhere. And that was just the beginning.
We fought back with some éclair bombs. You thought the cupcakes were bad, imagine pâte à choux filled with delicious crème caramel buttercream. They didn’t stand a chance, sticky, buttery, goo everywhere. We were slipping in sliding and these were only the first couple volleys.
I bet you didn’t know this, but petit-fours. Well, those babies are just a fancy way to serve cake at parties, sacrificial pawns… Chocolate covered strawberries and cinnamon twists were lost to the zerging carnage.
In the end only a couple of us remained. Me a chocolate mousse, an apple strudel and CP. All we had to break through was a wall of three tier birthday cake. Thing was a monster, happy birthday Jimmy. The alien motif that covered the thing was a horrendous. Space suited action figures with their little plastic guns pointed at ugly aliens (Jimmy is pretty sick let me tell you).
I don’t know how you would feel when you walked into the bakery in the morning and saw the mess of the night’s battles, but for me it wasn’t too big a deal really. I made it into the case. Me and a sexy wedding cake are hanging out just fine. We ditched the groom at the top, just me and the bride now.
Oh sorry, you want to know what happened to CP and the strudel, right? Ya, they didn’t make it. Was pretty spectacular though. The globby mess that came together when they hit that birthday cake. Well, makes you wonder what you put into your mouth when you see something like that, but this all left me a clear spot to move into the cake cooler.
It was a good night.
Title: “Cake Town Massacre”
The “National Dessert” reporter tried her best to get the straight story from pastries who witnessed the prior night’s battle.
She reviewed her notes:
There were rumors that the pies were not happy with cake in the “Cake Town” store name, along with customer attention to the elaborate cake displays.
Rhubarb Pie said that cakes should have been warned by rumors of Cherry Pie’s nightly rallies.
The fight actually started when Stargazy Pie reported diminished Birthday Cake ranks.
Lady Baltimore did her best to organize the fruit and nut pies, but Pecan was the hardest as he was truly a nut case.
Key Lime unlocked both display cases.
Mississippi Mud and Natchitochis Meat lead the charge.
It was observed that Lemon Meringue was more focused on Manchester Tart.
Last out of the case was “Chicken and Mushroom Pie.”
Boston Cream didn’t participate, not knowing which camp he belonged to.
Her notes from the actual battle:
Killer Pie was the first to make contact and laid a mighty blow on Pound Cake, who knocked over Upside-Down Cake.
Marble Cake saw that action, slipping trying to get away.
Pound Cake tried his best to move, but couldn’t.
Rum Cake only grinned at the action.
Fruit Cake was last seen ogling over Cherry Pie’s assets.
Wedding Cake scurried off with Angel Cake, while Devil’s Food gave chase.
The Chocolate Cakes negotiated a truce only having to part with their cherries, and a store name change to Pie Empire.
“Pies of the world unite! For years we’ve been upstaged at every party. It’s time we take back our glory. We should be at the center of celebrations, not relegated to some back-shelf. By the time we’re done, those smug little cakes are going to lose their frosting.”
“Can’t we all just get along? You know, play cards or something.”
“This isn’t a game, Chess. It certainly wasn’t a game when Uncle Bing proposed a merger with that two timing Chocolate Cake. Poor Black Forest still doesn’t know who his true father is. Cake has betrayed us at every turn and I’m not going to stand for it any longer. Now who is with me?”
“The Apple is in, dearie. And I’ve almost finished knitting our flag.”
“Thanks, Grannie. It’s beautiful.”
“You can count on us.”
“Glad to hear, Rhubarb. And congratulations to you and your blushing bride, Peach. Aw, nuts. Pecan! Shoo Fly! Get these bugs out of here. This is a bakery not a dump. Custard and Cream, you two man the beaters.”
“Will do.”
“Cookie.”
“Sir, yes sir.”
“Oh for goodness sakes, stop sir sandwiching and grab that glass of milk.”
“Sir yes sir.”
“Pumpkin, wipe that silly grin off your face. Has anyone seen Coconut?”
“The wacko is hanging from the lamp again.”
“No need to be so tart, Lemon. Coconut! Quit goofing around and get the rolling pin. Mince, hand out the knives. It’s time to crumb some cake.”
Cherry pie looked around. “For cakes, mates, life is a bed of cherries. It’s cake this, cake that, cake something or other all year around. And pies? Are we allowed to sweeten up birthdays and weddings? Oh no, we are not even an item of choice in funerals.”
“I hate seeing those cakes strutting around like they own America. Not one is truly American. Nothing is as American as pumpkin pie”, said pumpkin.
Banana spoke up. “I do go bananas seeing those cakes getting front window display. A two-pound chocolate cake does not contain half as much nourishment as one slice of banana pie.”
“Sure as god made little green apples”, said apple, “those cakes have been poisoning people against us.”
“All right, then.” Cherry paused, looking around. “We fight for our rights. Any suggestions?”
“We talk to the people. We submit our demands and an ultimatum”, apple proposed.
“Demands? Ultimatum?” cherry echoed.
“Either they make us a standard food item at all festivities or we refuse to cooperate any more. People will never bake the perfect pie again. We will force them to eat humble pie.”
“Okay, let’s go!” At cherry’s shout, they rushed toward the baker.
The next morning, the baker was opening his shop when a regular customer turned up. “Hear the pies went on strike yesterday?”
“Yeah, they wanted to be treated same as cakes.”
“And?”
The baker looked up at the sky, then spat on the sidewalk. “Pie in the sky,” he muttered.