Pie

True Blood - will be shed

The next morning I wake up to two realisations. One: my brother has beaten me to he shower and two: I never took the pie from the oven. FUUUUUUUUUUU- 

I spring from my bed with actual grace and sprint across my room stabbing my foot on an up-turned hairbrush (ow ow ow) I do a leap over a pile of unwashed laundry slash the reason I constantly smell like a gym, then skid out of my room. 

How, how could I forget? I was a baker a cook in my prime! (A butler the Jeeves of my time!). I know I’m pretty rubbish at everything that isn’t drawing my classmates being mutilated by flesh eating, blood lusting zombies but I really wanted to keep a hold of my family jewels. God really does hate fags. 

I slide along our wooden hallway in my socks, and fall partly down the stairs before grabbing hold of the banister, which consequently rips out my fingers. 

Not literally, though I am in a lot of pain and they may have to be amputated. Then I’d really be rubbish at everything, you can’t draw the living un-dead without hands! 

Not important right now!

I wouldn’t be able to bake without hands either.

You can’t bake anyway. Mikey did most of the work all you had to do was get it out of the oven. By the way great job on that. It’s still burning.

FUUUUUUU-

Finally down the stairs, I catapult over the sofa and dive into the kitchen landing on the old oak table with a thud on my stomach. With a sigh I see what I already knew; the oven on, smoky and disintegrating my pie. Along with my dreams. I’m going to die. I’m going to actually die. 

What is a bake sale without baking? My death, that’s the answer.

I wail and flail on the table in my Frankenstein pyjamas nocking the pepper flying into the sink. An over reaction? I think not, yes while I should apologise to the pepper later on when I’m not in such a pathetic state you must understand that this mornings actions were entirely plausible.

Let me introduce to you Coach Sylvester. Six feet of pure blonde, scheming hate and narcissism, she even makes Jasey look like a butterfly. Coach’s threats are not metaphors, you ever heard of the chokey? Yes that small dark nail filled room in Matilda, they stole that from Sylvester’s detention office. 

“Gerard, what are you doing?” Comes my soulless little bother’s voice, I look up to see him leaning easily against the doorframe school uniform scruffy and partly covered in food, skinny jeans too tight for a sibling, his usually heavily straitened mousy hair is still damp and sticking up at awkward angles, glasses resting neatly on the end of his nose. 

Why can’t he die instead of me? Younger flesh tastes better. 

I point hopelessly towards the cooker, you can’t even see in anymore thanks to the amount of smoke. This is truly unfair what have I ever done to deserve this? I am a walking travesty and my life is in shambles maybe it’s better that I die today. Or maybe it will be decided that even death isn’t bad enough punishment for me and I will be put on the Cheerleading squad. 

No I can’t think like that, if things ever get that bad I will run away to join the circus.

But things are already that bad aren’t they? I burnt the pie. 

“Oh” I watch my little brother’s face turn from a pallet of amused confusion to unbridled anger. This isn’t good. “Gerard you idiot! How could you? After all my hard work, I put my blood sweat and tears into that pie! All you had to do was take it out the oven!”

I think if my life were an anime Mikey’s head would be very big and have a little circle or throbbing triangles around it. 

“Mikey I”