The fight was far from over. It is said that after that fateful day, the two cities of Nabberjack and Whiffling were eternally at odds. The bridges over the Plonk were burned from either end, and all communications henceforth ceased (except for the ones that involved insulting the other). Families and friends split in an instant, calling their solicitors to write loved ones
out of their wills and donate their entire inheritance to the various lobbies set up to petition the pronunciation of scone. Other baked goods became the source of contestation in the aftermath too - was it a barm cake or a bun (there was even a small faction of fanatics that tried to call it an oven bottom, but no one bothered listening to them)? Should a sponge cake
be slathered with strawberry jam or raspberry jam? What was the point of the crust end-bits of toast? The Nabberjackers argued that it was for mopping up gravy whereas the Whifflers said it was for topping with baked beans. Entire schools of academia were set up to analyse and fight over every crumb, scrap, and burn bit that came out of the
bakeries. There were whole libraries of books that were subsequently burnt down (not that too many people cared because they could not read). It did not take long for scones to be incorporated into songs that were then sung with incredible ferocity at football matches, which always descended into a fight between each team's pet streaker... Hatred had twisted itself into
every nook and cranny, and the damage was irreparable. Even the peace protesters used to bash each other on the head with their poorly made signs. The pact between Nabberjack and Whiffling was over. Years have passed hence, the people have moved on and the buildings reduced to rubble. All that can be seen today are the ancient trenches that were used during their most deadly
war - the War of the Toastie. Over two thousand good men lost their lives, and countless more cheese toasties were sacrificed to the Plonk. No one knows the exact trigger of the war, but it is suspected to have something to do with where the chutney goes. In a world so divided, I wish that we could feel commonality once more, but I fear that like a neatly sliced scone, we will
never be whole again.' Dr Togg rolled up the ancient manuscript, not quite believing that they had finally found the proof they needed. 'Amazing,' she said, 'Simply amazing.' Dr Laces (a descendant of Knobbert Laces, although he did not know it) nodded in agreement. 'Perhaps this will
earn us the Nobel Prize.' he said softly. 'Perhaps.' replied Togg. 'Think of how this will change lives.' 'Finally, we have the answers.' 'We really have done it haven't we?' Togg looked at her colleague with shining eyes. This was her dream ever since she was a child. To find the source of the scone.
'We sure have.' said Laces. The pair embraced, careful not to squish the scroll. Togg rested her face on Laces shoulder. 'Thank you for believing in me.' she said, trying to hold back tears, 'It's a scone, just like I knew it always was, just like we-' Dr Laces drew back, his mouth formed a tight hard line, 'We?' he asked, 'There's no we about
this, I never said it was a scone.' 'What do you mean? It says it right here.' 'No it does not. It says it is a scone.' 'Scone.' 'Scone!'
The End. Thank you so much for sticking with it, and supporting me on this strange adventure. I hope you enjoyed it, any thoughts would be greatly appreciated! Also, can we have a small congratulations to me for actually finishing a story that is more than one post? Woo! Sy. x