The Pie Maker

     “Uuuuh well it really depends on what you like,” a beat, “but I like the      rhubarb?” The pie maker’s smile seems unnatural on his face, a sole,      uncertain eye crinkling to complete the expression.

     In all his years of owning the Pie Hole, the pie maker had never been at the      forefront of things. Luck had given him the bubbly and expressive Olive for      these moments, only to take her away in an instant (though, thankfully, not      forever).

“I didn’t actually say -”

Mason trailed off as he tried to remember the name on the post-it note in his pocket. Perhaps it was a little insensitive that he couldn’t recall it off the top of his head but when you’ve been a reaper for 50 years the names and days tended to blur together.

     “Davies. Right.” The pie maker’s breath held within his chest, anxiety tightening      in around his still-beating heart.

‘FIRST KISS’ PROMPT - ACCEPTING

   “You really ought to relax,” he comments, hands sliding up shoulders that immediately tense at Ralph’s touch. Deliberately his fingers sink in, as if to pin the other man in place so that he might not run.

   “You always feel so far away…”   Then tells him he never has to be.

   He breathes his name out - he’s too quiet at first and he tremors when he’s asked to repeat it. It sounds short then, as if the word can’t stretch enough, and it tumbles harsh into the Pie Maker’s ear.

   “Ned.”

‘ROUGH TOUCH’ PROMPT - ACCEPTING

   “NOW PIE MAKER,” says Father,    “I finally see what you are.”

   But Father does not scorn nor does he punish his former…FORMER and nothing more. Nothing now.

   The Pie Maker beckons, pleads even, that this is not what it seems. That this is something entirely different - and that now, in this place, for what purpose…All he can do is stare, as if lonely and not all at once.

   This is not the Ralph that he has known nor the Ralph he wanted…The Ralph he imagined. The creature that sprung from the skin he’s spun - the life he’s breathed so figuratively into the very being that was his only companion…

   A HEAVY HAND ON HIS SHOULDER.

     The pie maker’s heart had nearly stopped at the sound of an intruder - his finger      retracting from the nearly newly revived. It wasn’t the first time he had been      almost caught and it wouldn’t be his last, yet no matter how many times it      happened, it never stopped his heart from stalling.

         “Oh, no that’s fine. I’m just...the medical examiner. Examining.”      It took the pie maker a moment to realize it wasn’t his presence that was being      questioned and, as he so often did and just as frequently denied, he pushed.