It was as I awoke one morning to the sound of birds twittering outside of my frosty window pane that I noticed a huge amount of steam rising up into the sky from an unknown source. Looking out of my window, I was confronted with one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen. Lying there, in the middle of the road, was an enormous steak and kidney pie. From whence it came, nobody seemed to know, but hundreds of people had come from the world over just to witness the spectacle. Never before had something so strange and at the same time so exciting happened to the inhabitants of this small Silhillian town. At first, the mayor declared it to be a gift from God – never again, he announced, would there be need for citizens to work for their food, as the very size of the pie was sure to provide us with food for the next handful of years at least, such was its incredible magnitude. This angered the vegetarian population, but the mayor told them that if they didn’t like it they should keep their own council. Its filling seeped out of a small hole in the lower region of its crust, and warm gravy with chunks of meat as large as full-sized cattle ran out into the street. The more overweight members of the population took to wallowing in the stream, using it as a source of moisture in place of the usual, rather bland water we had drunk before the Genesis of the Pie, as it was now affectionately referred to. Its thick crust was immediately seized by the fat cats of the town, and the top of the pie was immediately transformed into a pay-for-entry park for the under 5s. The park was an immediate success until, one day, a child decided it would be a good idea to eat a portion of the pie, the terrible consequence of which being the collapse of the lid, and the child thus fell into the gravy and tragically drowned – being of the vegetarian persuasion, the child elected not to attempt to eat his way out. Following this, the citizens spent several days in mourning, and the pie turned from a symbol of miracle into a symbol of tragedy. It was immediately cordoned off, and the Health and Safety department covered every inch of its pastry with yellow signs warning against climbing on or over the pie. This worked well, until one day a man tripped over one of the signs. Health and safety went into a frenzy – warning signs placed there for the safety of the citizens had instead turned out to be hazardous to the safety of the citizens. Panic ensued. Government held meetings, and the Future of the Solihull Pie was discussed continuously by politicians across the country. Eventually, certain that the pie was m0re dangerous to people than beneficial, the Prime Minister elected to demolish it with a well-timed missile strike. The rockets plummeted into it in the early hours of June 19th, piercing its crust and spewing out gravy and meat in all directions across the town. People from all over the world turned up to witness the terrible event – many wore black clothes as a sign of mourning, whereas others took of their hats as a sign of respect. The pie caved in upon itself, and as soon as it had appeared, it was no more. The politicians were pleased with the outcome, but the citizens were in uproar. But nothing could be done about it. Time cannot be rewritten. The deed had been done. Health and Safety were satisfied, government were just pleased that it was no longer in their hands, but the townsfolk would never forget the joy and fame which had been brought them by the arrival of the Great Solihull Pie.
2011
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