by Angela Kempe
“That looks good!”
“It’s gluten free!”
“I won’t eat it!” Savanah said.
“Come on! I spent hours baking. You have to try!”
Savanah’s mother placed the pie on the table and walked away. Savanah stared at it. It smelled ordinary enough and had an ordinary color. Placed on a fancy white plate at the center of the table between a poinsettia and two white candles. Savanah rest her head on her palms as Grandpa walked by.
“You have to wait,” he smiled.
“I don’t want it!” Savanah sulked.
But Grandpa was already gone.
Just then, the pie wiggled.
“Mommy!” Savanah yelled, staring suspiciously.
There were too many people for her voice to be heard. She got on her tippy toes and leaned towards the pie. Tiny bubbles were forming on the smooth orange surface. Then, the center cracked and split down the middle. Savanah cowered behind the table, but gathered up her courage, leaned in closer and stared unflinchingly as a line of tiny bugs crawled out.
They formed a line like black ants across the table. Crawled all the way up to an inch away from her chin. Savanah squinted hard at the creatures. They looked like tiny men and were trying to say something to her, but she couldn’t understand.
“You better not get into that pie!” said her mother.
“Mommy! Mommy! There’s something in the pie! Aliens! Mommy, Look!”
Her mother laughed. Took up her knife in her hand and pushed passed Savanah.
“Oh, Savvy! Such a wild imagination!”
Savanah searched the table, but the creatures were gone. The pie was smooth as if just out of the oven. Savanah’s eyes were wide as her mother cut through the middle of the pie, cut out a large piece, and put it on a plate.
“Sure you don’t want a piece?”
“No, thank you, Mama.”
“Suit yourself,” she said, and gave it to Grandpa.