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“How do you feel?”

“Good. A little nervous granted.”

“Of course.”

“But good. Yeah. I feel ready.”

“That’s great. Honestly. I’m so happy to hear that.”

“I just…”

“What?”

“No it…it doesn’t matter.”

“Look-"

“No. I’m fine. I’m good. I feel…good about this.”

“You’re sure?”

Pause

“Yes.”

“Because… it’s not too late… you know.”

"What?"

“To back out. To say ‘no’. It wouldn’t be a defeat. You’ve come along way.”

Pause

“I just don’t feel right today.”

“‘Right’? What does ‘right’ mean?”

“I mean I’m…I’m not that…that hungry.”

Silence

“Have you eaten?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Eaten?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Have you?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. I see it. In your eyes. The way you speak. The way you hold yourself. You’re a man that has a demeanor of self satisfied, extinguished hunger.”

Pause

“How dare you. How fucking dare you. Me? Eaten? Well why don’t you just jump off a bridge and die. How can you even say that? You know me. You’ve been with me all this time. From the start. The beginning. The off. The relentless training. The vomiting. The ups and downs. The nightmares. Me. Waking up, shouting, screaming, sweating. Seeing pies in my sleep. You’ve been in it with me round after round after round. When we took every contest in Scotland. The surprise victory in York. The embarrassing defeat in Cardiff. You saw me after that one. A mouth still full of apple and blackberry. Sobbing. (Pause) You know how much I want this. Yet…you go and say a thing like that. You insult me with these allegations. Cutting deeper and thicker than that thick crust pear and pecan pie I struggled with in Oxford.”

“You did so well.”

“I know I did.”

“It was a wonder to watch.”

“Yes. It was. Because I kept pushing. Despite my stomach bursting with fruit and nut. Even though my mouth was welded shut with treacle. I took down that buttery wall with all my might and strength.”

Long Pause

“And you can do this.”

“I can?”

“Yes. I’m sorry for my slight lapse in belief. But that speech. That speech, which was fucking epic by the way, showed me. Told me again. How much you want this. How much you crave the flaky, sugary victory. Fifty short crust peanut butter and chocolate pies. What’s that to you ey? Winner of the Swansea Savoury Pie Struggle. Current holder of the Isle of Man Munch Out medal. And chairman of the North Yorkshire Pie Appreciation Society. (Pause) You’re going to take this motherfucker down like there’s no pie filled tomorrow.”

“I fucking love you man.”

“I love you too you fat bastard.”

Silence.

“What will you do? If I win, I mean. With your share of tarts, cakes and pies for life?”

“Have one hell of a Saturday night. You?”

Pause

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what food tastes good anymore.”

Silence

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Pies (Dialogue Tale)
FHALL Released Oct 13, 2012
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