The first time i entered Mr Mapie Pie’s shop it was the first time i saw all the pies. Well, they were not pies, they were adorable white cakes, with white cream filling and white cream covered, sitting on shelves in a white colored store. It had this incredible appeal, although he never noticed me. i don’t think so. At least i don’t remember. Yet. i was mesmerized by the consistency of the white in the cake, you see, it was this brilliant white that i could compare to this powdered sugar shaker that was sitting on a shelf in the back of the counter from a position where you could look at the people coming in, as well as on the pies sitting on the shelf. Now, a little imperfect, when the business talks started and when the business men came in, saying that Mr Mapie could use a little bit of color, and the cakes could use a little bit of color, and somehow they did it. The cakes started deteriorating in the way that, i don’t know, the cream started disappearing in spots here and there, revealing the white cake beneath, but the cake was uneven and imperfect, unlike it used to be. They were all placed on plates now i could see, as previously their brightness and perfection made them seem like almost they were floating in mid air, on the shelves, each with it’s own shine.
Mrs Mapie came in that day and said something about the pies and the place they were in. Mr Mapie was dressed in black, and he was talking with the men with his back turned to me, while i was further away with Mrs Mapie, as the whole shop was appearing to lose it’s brightness. As he kept talking to the men, with suits and suitcases, colored cakes sort of appeared in the shop and the counter caught color, as much color as some of the cakes on it. Then the chairs and the walls, and even the first bright white cake that i saw in the beginning, was now colored, and the people who came were happy and smiling and Mr Mapie was getting smaller.
The only thing that stayed bright, was the can of powdered sugar in my hands. Almost a reminder of what used to be. Now, all the cakes were in cherful brighless colors, sitting on cracked wooden planks in the planted shop, with a dull-colored but grounded-cheeriness Mr Mapie serving behind the counter, with a low-tone smile, the stream of endless customers coming in to buy dull-colored magnificent-looking, brilliance-lacking cakes. And the people sat in queues to buy these cakes, and to them they were delicious, after all, they were good cakes, but they never got to know what brilliance was, neither did they care. After all, the cakes were sweet.
Disappointed, i put the bright can of powdered sugar in my suitcase and i returned to the beginning. The beginning when the store still had the brilliant white interior which almost seemed as if it was glowing, where the cakes swirled perfectly on the counters, glowing and mesmerizing, almost seemingly floating in the air. With a pensive Mr Mapie sitting on a chair, thinking happily at something, and a Mrs Mapie singing softly in the background while doing nothing really behind the counter, because everything was already perfect, as well as the cut cake which i was able to peer inside and the perfect slice i was about to have. Until the men came in and started talking about business and bringing color to cakes, in order to make them more attractive and appealing to the public.
As they started talking, and moving in front of me, surrounding Mr Mapie, i could see the glow of the shop starting to dwindle down and the cakes beginning to look like ordinary, imperfect cakes, one could say almost careless baked, looking like nothing that i would like to eat, but these men were discussing frosting and colors and the amount of money and the people that would eat, and even though the cakes barely started getting any color, there were people lined up at the door of the bakery shop, which wood was colored a dark green, not glowing, and they were all excited to have a portion of something … that wasn’t brilliant at all. At this point, one could even stop for a moment and think or perhaps wonder or maybe even remember, how these cakes tasted in their original form. i left, but not by leaving, the only reminder of the brilliance’s past, in my suitcase, a glowing can of sugar powderer.