Pie, with a cup of Tea

Oh, how the aroma of a freshly baked pie can make one feel; made with bright red poisonedapples...the taste can seem unreal. When one is having a horrible day and in a depressive state; this pie can work miracles; the most wound up, it can sedate. Made by a wonderful ladycook, this pie isn't ordinary. Filled with the perfect ingredients, it's more than just extraordinary. Served on a silver plate, with ashiningfork and a cup of tea. "Take as many pieces as you want," she says. "Take one, two, or even three!" "How many can one eat?" he says. "This pie is incomplete!" he says. "This pie smells like feet!" he says. "There is no need to taunt!" she says. "My pie is the best in all Vermont!" "Now try my pie or leave now, just one last chance I will allow," she says. "Okay, fine. I'll try your pie, though it has a wretched smell. Then, after I've thrown it up, I will say my farewell." he says. He takes a bite, and then another— his gross expression he tries to smother. His head hits the table, he now lay dead. Widened eyes, his face turns red. "I have the best pies in Vermont," she says. "When one is having a bad day, and they're in a depressive state; my pie can work miracles! The most wound up, it can sedate."