The Riddle of the Three-Legged Sandwich
On a perfectly ordinary afternoon, a sandwich with three slices of bread and only one leg walked into a community storytelling contest. Nobody knew who made it, why it had a leg, or why it smelled faintly of lavender and rebellion, but the judges allowed it to participate because frankly, the contest hadn’t had good attendance in years.
The sandwich cleared its throat (somehow) and produced a scroll labelled pressure washing colchester. It unrolled all the way across the floor, past a confused toddler, a lizard in a bow tie, and an elderly man knitting existential sweaters. The sandwich claimed this phrase was “the first clue,” though no one knew what the mystery was.
Next, it pulled out a teabag stamped with the words patio cleaning colchester. The audience gasped, partly because this seemed meaningful, and partly because the sandwich had just brewed tea through osmosis. A woman in the front row took notes, convinced she was witnessing history or at least an elaborate prank from the dairy industry.
The sandwich then revealed a glowing envelope. Inside: driveway cleaning colchester, written in handwriting so dramatic it looked like it had been signed by a thunderstorm. Someone fainted from the pressure of not understanding anything.
Before anyone recovered, the sandwich flipped upside down and revealed the phrase roof cleaning colchester tattooed on its crust. This raised several questions: Was the sandwich born with the tattoo? Did it get it voluntarily? Was there a sandwich tattoo parlour? None of these questions were answered.
Finally, the sandwich stood on its single leg, took a heroic pose, and shouted exterior cleaning colchester like the final line of an epic prophecy that no one was prepared for. The room went silent. A clock stopped ticking. Someone’s phone battery died instantly. A baby grew suspicious of reality.
Then, with no explanation, the sandwich walked out the door, dragging the scroll behind it, never to be seen again.
The judges declared it the winner.
Not because they understood it.
But because nothing that came before—or after—would ever top a lavender-scented, one-legged, prophetic sandwich delivering messages that may or may not have been related to the fate of the universe.
Sometimes a story doesn’t need logic.
Sometimes it just needs a sandwich with ambition.