The Plain and the Pie

by Milky Puppy

Tanger loved to roam the plains. He'd been roaming the plains for over 50 years now. He figured he'd roamed most of the world's best plains. Of the plains he had roamed, he had a few favourites - naturally and quite understandably. What plain roamer can look you in the eye and tell you every plain's the same to them? No, every plain roamer has a special plain. A plain just a wee bit closer to his heart than all the rest. A special plain, which he wouldn't mind roaming again. A plain with which he feels a certain unique bond, as if he was put on this world to roam that plain, and that plain was created for no other purpose than to be roamed upon by he. And when a plain roamer is roaming that one special plain, why, it's a beautiful thing ... and all nature is at harmony, and little woodsy creatures come outside and watch in awe, and say to one another (in woodsy-ese) "That man is roaming his one special plain," and then they nod, and keep on nodding, and don't stop until they're good and done, by which time they've usually made themselves sick.

In any case, Tanger was now roaming just such a special plain. He'd roamed some beauts but this one really took the cake. It was so flat, and covered in so much wheat ... it really put ideas into a plain roamer's head. The sky all around was blue, with little bits of magenta for variety. Fluffy white clouds skitted across the horizon like sheep at play. The wheat swayed lazily back and forth, back and forth in the breeze, almost like the welcoming wave of an old friend. Tanger's heart was filled with warmth and contentment.

"I love you, plain," Tanger said, his voice filled with emotion.
"You're just saying that," the plain replied.
"No, I mean it. I really feel on top of the world when we're together. I think I could happily spend the rest of my life roaming you," Tanger said with conviction.
The plain hesitated. "You just like the way I look," it countered.
"No! No. There's so much more to it than that. It's a whole feeling of belonging, of acceptance ... and of deep, burning passion that can't be contained much longer!" Tanger exclaimed, tearing off his shirt and throwing it to the wind.
"Oh Tanger!" cried the plain, as the two drew together in a passionate embrace.

Several hours later, the passion between the two had been fully expressed. Tanger had packed up his plain roaming things and was preparing to be on his way, when he heard the gentle sobbing of the plain.
"Wh... what are you doing?" the plain asked amid tears.
"I got what I wanted," Tanger replied flatly, hoisting his gear over his shoulder.
"Why won't you stay?" asked the plain.
"You're just a damned plain," Tanger scoffed, and roamed away, to roam over other plains.

Just a damned plain...
just a damned plain...
just a damned plain...

So, thought the plain, it was just a damned plain, was it?

* * *

Twenty-two years had passed since that fateful night between Tanger and the plain. Tanger had continued to roam across many plains, and had seduced several more - always telling them that THEY were that one special plain. Eventually, however, the plain roaming life had lost its charm for the aging Tanger, and he had headed into the city where he had become a famous artist, who painted plains and only dreampt about roaming upon them. His work was motivated by a true love for the plain roaming life, and his art was very widely appreciated.

Tanger was working on a painting of a certain plain, just touching up some of the wheat and attempting to make it a bit more life-like, when he heard a knock at his door. Tanger cursed this interruption of his important work and headed to the door.

At the door stood a beautiful young brunette, dressed in a sweater and loose dress pants. She had a very pretty smile, and Tanger's anger faded away and was forgotten.
"Hello?" Tanger said, looking the girl up and down with curiosity.
"Hello. I brought you this," said the girl. Her smile changed from a friendly smile into a vengeful grimace, as she pulled out a slice of blueberry pie from her pocket. "It's from that plain you used for cheap thrills - just a damned plain, eh? Well it managed to bake this pie!" the girl yelled bitterly.
"Oh," Tanger said. "Well I think it got all dirty in your pocket so I'm not going to eat it."
The girl looked frustrated. "I am half plain. You... are my father," she said, as though she'd practiced saying it many times, and intended for this fact to startle Tanger entirely.
"How about that," Tangier said. "Anything else?"
"No," the girl replied unhappily.
"Goodbye," Tanger said, offering a small wave as he shut the door.

He sat back down in front of his easel and concentrated on getting back to putting some zest into that wheat. After a few minutes he realized it just wasn't working. He snapped his brush in half and threw the pieces to the floor in frustration. It wasn't working.
Damn it, he thought, the plain had baked a blueberry pie.

If you like anything here, or if you don't, please e-mail milky@yip.org. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.