The Tragedy of the Pastry Pie

Once there was a pastry pie. It sat on a windowshelf. The window was open and a happy breeze blew in over the pastry pie, cooling it gently, for it was still hot from the oven. The breeze mingled the scents of the summer grass outside with the savory scent of the pie to create a pleasant odor in the warm sunny kitchen.

A bird hopped in and stood on the windowshelf. He was a brown bird, small and round, and curious.

The pastry pie sat next to him, spreading out its warm smell. The bird cocked his head and hopped a little closer to the pastry pie. And then he fell in love.

He bobbed his head and fluffed his feathers. He hopped around the windowshelf excitedly.

The pastry pie responded in kind, letting out fresh steam from a crack in its golden flaky crust.

The bird drank in the pie's pleasant breath. Then he began his dance once again. He bobbed and jumped and hopped and fluffed.

And then the cook came and took away the pastry pie.