Battle of the Cheese

by Jack Doran

Did you know I get judged? Just because I am sliced; but I am Jarlsberg, that's what happens to me when I am made. I'm not fancy like Lord Camembert who is a whole wheel, but I am better for sandwiches (even if we don't want to be eaten). This is my story of the cheese battle, that dreadful day in the, normally calm and quiet fridge.

There was an ear-splitting scream, it sounded like Wensleydale, she is so delicate and can crumble easily. It was coming from the Kale Forest, the darkest place in the fridge. I looked towards it and saw Lord Camembert coming out, with a carrot stick in his hands. It had cheese crumbs on it!

I went to the Sausages at the police station in the meat draw. It stank of cow's heart and the slimy goose liver, perfect for locking up criminals. I told them about the carrot stick and the scream. They asked for evidence, I was stumped "what should I do?" I thought to myself. That's it! I told my friends Leerdammer, Port Salut, Cheddar and Mozzarella about what I saw, off we went to Camembert Manor. We couldn't just stroll in through the front door. Only friends of the Lord can do that. We snuck in through the drainage channel and hid in the air vent. (Air vents in fridges are cramped places). There I was sat in one staring down, through the grid, at these stinky crooked cheeseboard criminals. The smelly little feller was sat on his grand chair at the head of the table. In a meeting with Dairylea, Stilton, Brie and Saint Agur (who is no saint at all). Propped at the side of Lord Camembert is the evidence, the carrot stick.

I looked at the notice-board it had photos of food in the fridge. Wensleydale was crossed off, and there were pictures of me and all my friends. Unfortunately, Mozzarella sneezed - caught in a pepper booby-trap. I saw Brie chugging over, pineapple stick in hand, the grid burst open, maybe I would wake in hospital, with even more holes in me... They were armed with carrot sticks, pineapple sticks and other deadly fruit and vegetable weapons.

I swung down, kicked Camembert in the face he fell into his goons. We grabbed a pod of peas, (Peas do not like to be woken from their warm, cosy pod). The peas took one look at Camembert and leapt on him, he fell to the ground so we ran towards the meat draw. Trying to get to the sausage cops. I looked down, celery strings were wrapping around my legs, we fell into the chocolate mousse bog. Without hesitation, Mozzarella's arm shot out wrapped around a broccoli branch and pulled us out.

Without going into the gory detail, after a long dairy mess of a battle, we won. The fridge was a safe place again. Lord Camembert and his criminal cheese cronies are rotting away in the Bowl of Custardy.