a hell of pies

A pie is thrown: Its flight is arrested by a face, mostly harmlessly. In response, another pie is thrown in the opposite direction. Soon, the air is alive with pies.

Where are all these pies coming from? They appear in hands unbidden and freedom is found (however briefly) only in the seconds after a throw.

Facial features are buried, nostrils full of pie, mouths sucking air from the bottom of meringue peaks, shoes squeaking for purchase on pie slick floors and still, more pies, and we gasp for air and wait for the laughter to stop so we can be free.