Justice for Charlie
Hungry for a taste of pie, young Charlie crept carefully down the long, creaky hallway of his mother's summer home. She had invited Charlie to spend the weekend with her, while his father was away on a business trip. It had been over four years since Charlie's last visit, and his mother was quite lonesome.
An hour later, Charlie had safely procured some pie from the inner sanctuary of his mother's kitchen. She had been outside, plucking some wild strawberries for some future jam, when Charlie grabbed the pie and sneaked stealthily away to his upper loft. As he was about to eat the inner contents of the sweet, tasty pie, he thought of his mother. He remembered how much time and effort she had put into making this pie. Not only had she prepared and baked the pie itself, but she had also planted and grown the blueberries, blackberries, and other assorted berries. She had been down on her hands and knees for most of the summer, preparing the plants for possible use in pie production.
These thoughts made Charlie think of one thing only: this pie would taste better than any pie ever made. As he was about to dig his hands into the center of the pie, young Charlie heard a sound that he had never before heard. A very loud crack - BAM! - and a scream. His mother's scream.
Young Charlie made it to the window in time to see the terrorists fleeing the scene, and his mother lying dead in the strawberry patch.
He didn't need to confirm the death; his mother was lying in a very awkward position, and blood was pouring down the irrigation route like a small stream of syrup. He looked at the pie with longing eyes - the taste, he knew, would not be nearly as sweet. With tears in his eyes, and a sinking feeling in his gut, Charlie began the feast of his final pie.