From Scratch

As the sun rose on the new day, the wizard Wheeze had to take a breath. It had been a long few weeks of fixing the universe as someone had decided to take chunks out of bits of quasar and sun, disrupting the natural order of things.

After exploding a massive meteor to fill in the gap of a large planet with his finger, Wheeze had the most important thought he had ever had in his life. 

“I’m in the mood for a good pie,” said Wheeze.   

“Pie?” said Mallard, his friend from work. He was a demon. And a lot worse than you’d give him credit for. “I can go for some pie. I know this really good place. Makes it from scratch.”

The really good place in question was an old run church turned diner. The pews were made into seating for the diners. At one point, it had also been a gun store, making for a delightfully grimy glass display for the diner’s many many treats. Its occupants were equally run down and rather foul as they were mostly the birds in the rafters. The few people who were people, were all rowdy and gathered around one man. This  patron stood apart from the others, quite literally as he was just standing there, a very very old, very very naked man. He gazed into the infinite distance, not even blinking.  

Wheeze sighed. “I should have known.”
A large magpie flew down to Wheeze’s feet. 

“Your tables are over here.” she said, leading them to a couple of cobwebbed stools seated by a dusty bail of hay.
Wheeze sat on one, and felt it sink a few inches into the dirt. Mallard just hovered. 

“We’ll be right with you with the pies.” said the Magpie, “And, no we are not baked in them, so please refrain from any jokes. We will peck your eyes out.” 

She squawked off, leaving the two together again. 

“I really do hope it’s as good as you say it is,” said Wheeze. “A place like this doesn’t leave much to hope for.” 

“Oh, it’s in the left pocket.”

“What?” 

“Sorry, I was…” he trailed off. His eyes were  trained on the old man. A woman 

was banging pots and pans right by his ear. Another person saw it fit to scream. But the old man did not react, still staring, as though watching an invisible scene. Mallard scoffed. “Amateurs.”

“It’s a slow day,” said the Magpie, flying back with a bit of misshapen brown pastry. “People are running out of things to do to the poor man without outright shooting him.” 

“What are they trying to do?” he asked.
“They’re trying to get him to move,” said Mallard. 

“What for?” asked Wheeze, as he picked up the pie. Upon closer inspection it wasn’t the prettiest. Far from it, it was rather soggy. Although, considering the company he kept, he wasn’t going to start judging by appearance now.

“It’s for a prize, darling,” said the Magpie. “How you likin your pie so far?”

“AAUJFJFK” he screamed, muffled by the pie in his mouth. He had taken a bite, and quite apparently it was not a good one. He would, he decided, begin to judge by appearance more readily. 

He spat it out on the ground.
“Excuse me!” said the Magpie.

“He loves it dear.” cut in Mallar. “Look at how he spits it out. It’s delicious,” he said. 

“Funny way of showing it.” said the Magpie crossly.
“Whatever do you mean?” he pointed at the spit. “He loves it so much he left all that for you.”

He gives her a wink. 

“Oh,” she said blushing at Wheeze. “I didn’t know it was like that.” 

She winked back, and she went about cleaning his sick. 

“I could have just zapped it clean,” said Mallard, coughing. 

“Easier to let others do it.” said Mallard. “Besides, I didn’t want to have to take a bite out of those nasty things.” 

“I thought these were the pies.” 

“I didn’t say anything,” said Mallard. 

“So what was the point of bringing me here?” 

“I said I’d get you the pies.” said Mallard calmy, pinching the wizard’s cheeks.  

“Where the hell are you getting them then?” Wheeze said angrily.  

Mallard smiled that nasty little smile of his. 

“That guy.” he said, pointing at the old man. 

They walked over just to him, just as a gruff man swung an ax at his head, stopping just as it touched his skull. A bead of red trickled down from his forehead. But the old man was as still as a rock.
“Bloody amateur.” said Dr. Mallard, pushing him aside. All the others recoiled at the doctor’s appearance. Understandably so. He was terrifying. And Dr. Mallard relished in that fact. 

“He won’t move because he knows he’s going to live.” he said, grabbing the axe out of the big one’s hand, almost immediately dropping it. “Damn, how did you lift that thing?”

“I think you’re just weak-” said Wheeze.

“No matter!” interrupted Mallard. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
Mallard pulls a gun out of his pocket.
“Hey where’d you get-” 

He pressed it against the old man’s head and fired. The sound was thunderous and had left everyone in the room covering their ears and wincing. The gun itself had left Mallard’s hand, and had landed on one of the beams in the rafters.

But the old man, still standing still staring, now had a large bullet hole right in the center of his forehead. Mallard grinned, but only for a moment, as the wound began to seal up soon after.  

“Does healing count?” 

“He has to move willingly.” said the large axman. 

“Damn.” 

Mallard examined the wound. “Wheeze, come look at it for a moment.” 

The little wizard leaned in close beside the demon (read as “doctor”).
“It’s healing normally,” said Wheeze.
“But it wouldn’t normally heal. He’d be dead.” 

“Ah,” said Wheeze.
“Do you know what this sort of man is?” 

Wheeze sighed.
“I have a feeling you’ll tell me.” 

“He’s eternal.” 

Dr. Mallard gave him a large expectant smile.
“What do you want me to do? Clap?” said Wheeze, unimpressed. “I still don’t get it.”  

“I-” Mallard furrowed his brow. “I kind of did.” 

“I’ll clap if you explain it better. You said he’s immortal?” 

Mallard touched the old man’s face. “E-ternal, not Eye- mmortal–”

“Nobody says it like that.” 

“-It’s a very interesting distinction.” He spread the old man’s eyes wide open.
“Look closely at the way they shine. Look at the way they reflect the light.” 

Wheeze looked close. At first he saw nothing. But then there was a flicker. Then he saw everything. 

He fell backwards, clutching his eyes in agony. 

“The hell was that?” 

“The universe in motion, my friend,” said Mallard. “Burning itself out. Eating itself alive.” 

“He’s an uroboros.”

“It must have taken a lot of power to put him in this state. I can’t imagine the energy needed to create this circular cycle.” 

“On the contrary, it’s quite the opposite. You’d think you’d want to be the biggest thing in the universe, but this is moreso a matter of time. Placed between the most miniscule of moments. Hidden in the eves of a second.” 

“So what’s with him staying still?” asked Wheeze.

“ He stands still because the uroboros does not want to face oblivion. He watches it all from one spot.” 

“Watches what?” 

“Eternity. Well…more precisely, possibility.  It’s not simply a circle, but a sphere. He sees absolutely everything.” 

“How horrifying!” said Wheeze.
“I know! One can only imagine the agony he’s in. He probably doesn’t even notice us.” 

“How can we change that?” said Wheeze.
“You’re already ahead of me I see.” Dr. Mallard turned to the oaf with the ax. “Boy, how good are you at making really big signs?” 

But the Uroboros did know they were there. He knew where everything was and every will be. Vaguely. Anything big enough  Every sign would fail. They could chop up the world tree. It would fail.Not that he cared. There was only one moment in history that mattered to him.

It was somewhere right before the end of time.

His wife had just crawled with  him to bed, holding him tightly under their blanket.

 He could not hear her as she spoke. But he could remember every word she said.

It was a song, bittersweet as can be.

“There will come a day, when the stars fall and the night turns

There will come a day when the hearth no longer burns
A day when I’m no longer dreaming with you
A day when I’ll have nothing left to do. 

But till that day, I’ll be by your side
Even as the years go by
I’ll smile each day I’m alive

Knowing I’ll be gone 

Before that day arrives”

She sang it as a promise. One he knew she could not keep. He held her all the same.
“Are you not going to bed?” she asked him. 

“I don’t think it’s right if I sleep tonight,” he said. “I don’t want to wake up and see that you’re not there.” 

“If things are going as they’re supposed to, then ,” Her voice cracked. “Then I don’t think we’re waking up at all.” 

“Then I just won’t sleep. Maybe if I don’t sleep, it won’t happen. Maybe if I don’t sleep it won’t have to end.”
“Then I’ll just stay up with you.” she said.  

He was half-right. 

She would fall asleep by the thirteenth hour. And the flames would engulf the house, and their bed, and all the rest of the world. But not him, he was to be the end’s witness. He would stay awake to see it all burn away. How many years has it been? How long has it been since he’s slept? 

He awaited the last light, that sudden flash before the inevitable end. 

But it never came. Instead blocking the light was—

“You think this is big enough?” asked Mallard. They had cut a sizable chunk of a world tree with the ax. 

“It’s big enough to block the sun,” said Wheeze.

“Will it survive the sun?” asked the axeman.

“It has to,” said Mallard. 

The old man reached out of the aether to touch it, “What the hell?” 

As proof of concept,the sign immediately burst into flames. 

“Anything bigger and we risk plunging the earth into an ice age.”

“…Only for a few minutes.” Wheeze glared at him.  “Trust me this pie will be worth it.” he said, unconvincingly. 

“I don’t think we can make anything big enough that can survive eternity.” 

“I mean if he did it, we ought to be able to.” said Wheeze. 

“That’s...actually pretty smart.” said Mallard

“What do you mean ‘actually’?” 

“Just hand me your zappy finger please.” 

Wheeze sighed, and conceded.

“Always so obedient you are,” smiled Malard. 

As the old man reached out to touch the large letters, he found he could not reach them. No matter how far he reached, no matter how much he stretched, all he found was air. He then had a thought. He poked at his eye. 

“Hopefully this doesn’t hurt.” said Wheeze. 

“He’s taken a shot to the head, I think he’ll be fine,” said Mallard as he burned the man’s retinas.  

“You’re not even spelling it right!” 

In big letters emblazoned on the horizon, it said, “Gim Pie from scratch plz and we help yo oot”

The old man couldn’t help but smile. He plucked out his eyes, leaving himself in darkness. And he simply listened. 

He had seen it a thousand times. He’s seen everything there could ever be. 

He simply reached out. Bits of stardust from the heat of the beginning. The crust of planets just forming. The red light screaming into a black hole. And time. Lots and lots of time. 

The old man moved, his eyes now hollow, grabbing Wheeze by the head. He plants a kiss on his cheek, and pulls from seemingly nowhere the most perfect apple pie that ever can or will exist. 

“It’s-” started Wheeze, eyes wide. 

“-Perfect,” said Mallard. “Those are the only words that can ever be uttered about such a thing.” 

Wheeze agreed wholeheartedly. To describe the perfection of its butter crisp crust, the scent of cinnamon that pervaded the air, the sweet soft apples that lived on its inside—would be an injustice of the greatest sort. It is perfection. Nothing less. 

“Glad you understand it that way,” said Mallard. “Now kill him.” 

“What?” 

“He’s been suffering for god knows how many eternities. Kill him now.” 

“But the pie–” 

“You’ve lived this long without it. He’s lived forever. Quite literally. He needs to die. Right now.”
Wheeze sighed, not because he knew Mallard was right, but because he had to set down the pie. 

He looked into the old man’s eyes for the last time. He had only known him for a few days, but the old man might have known him for an eternity or longer. He had no more eyes, but as those dark pits remained open to the world, he couldn’t help feel that they were staring at him. Not pleading, but asking very politely. “Please, just kill me now.” 

“If you insist,” said Wheeze. 

He placed his finger on his head, and without any flash or flare, he incinerated the man, letting him return to oblivion. All the while, the old man hummed a tune, bittersweet as can be. 

In the dark of his thoughts, he said to himself and in a little prayer to her. 

 “I was gone before that day arrived.”

Then there was dust. Then wind. Then nothing. 

“Well now that’s done—” said Wheeze, turning around to take his pie. 

To his horror, there was the bird and Mallard, squatting on the floor, shoving pie in their mouths.
“What are you doing!?” he cried. 

“You were taking forever-” said Mallard.
“You didn’t pay for the other pies,” said the Magpie. 

“I did as you asked!” yelled Wheeze.
“Damn good thing you did.” said Mallard, licking the cinnamon off his fingers.
“Let me enjoy it then!” 

He grabbed the pie for himself. There were less than 30 bites left. “Despicable.” 

But then he took a bite for himself. Then he understood. 

It lasted only a moment. A sensation. No, more like a frenzy. He understood that, if anyone were near this pie, they would take a bite too. No, more than a bite. They would devour it with their very souls. Their beings. Till it was all that was left was the scent and flavor of that pie.
The universe seemed so vast in that second. And he felt so warm on the inside, as though it were embracing his heart. And everything was to be alright.  

And then the moment passed. And everything was not alright. 

Laid up on the floor, crying his eyes out was the wizard Wheeze. Mallard was sitting on a hay bail across him, knitting a blanket for his friend. The church was empty, save for the two friends. 

“It was too short,” whimpered Wheeze. “It was far too short.” 

“Sir, it was a few days,” said Mallard. 

“How come you two were fine?” 

“Two?” 

“You and the bird,” said Wheeze.
“First of all, she’s a magpie,” said Mallard. “And second, we’re a bird and a…something…we’re quickly bored. Short attention spans.” 

“But-but-but” 

“Hush now, little Wheezy.” he held his friend very close, much to Wheeze’s chagrin. His arms were very cold, and very painfully boney. 

“I have one question for you, my boy. How do you feel?” 

“I-I feel terrible.” said Wheeze, his voice shaking. 

“But, would you do it again?” 

Wheeze looked up, and his voice was still shaking. 

“O-o-over and over.”