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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Contest Entry · #2100104
A pumpkin returns a mere husk of what he used to be - the first to return from Halloween.
“I must be honest, Jack, you have the entire town tossed about in a panic over those scars. Will you not tell anyone else what happened?”
“…I do not speak of them because they are marks of shame.”
“But you must at some point. The others have begun to speculate-“
“Let them. They know not the weariness of my heart, it having been gutted out of me for the pleasures of man. Then to be left at a doorstep, alight like a beacon of warning…it will appear to be weakness on my behalf that I wish not to endure.”
“None have ever returned from a Choosing before… perhaps it would benefit the patch to know what occurs…why do you seem not to be paying attention to me, Jack?”
“The Choosing…such an odd choice of name, don’t you think? I had no sense of being special. The great maker was not there as my stem was popped from atop my head and my insides were scooped out like stew from a cauldron. I wonder – each autumn, when we are severed from our life source…do they mean for all of us to meet the same fate? Is it so much of a choosing as it is a cruel game? Ah…my fear in telling the others is that there will be panic. That the wheels we rest our history on will be rot with time and crumble with any sort of movement. I fear the worst, my friend.”
“Hmm. A terrifying thought indeed. I wonder, do you know why they gave you their face?”
“I can only imagine it is a mockery. They take us every season and hand us to children to… they called it ‘carve’. It gives the little ones much delight. We are called ‘scary’ and serve only to appear as lit-up husks along the stairwells of homes as wickedly dressed creatures bound up to request treats. Sometimes a masked one would kick one of us. I was lucky one of them picked me up.”
“That’s how you got back? One of the men brought you?”
“I expect he was merciful. He was alone, stumbling about and whispering very kind things to me. He smelled of hops. Belched quite a bit. But…he was kind. Picked me up shortly after one of the children rolled me into a walkway. Cradled me in his arms and set me down gently over the fence of the patch and told me…”
“…Jack? What did he tell you, my friend?”
“He told me ‘go home little guy’. He was gone as quickly as he’d come.”
“What a kind soul.”
“What shall you do now?”
“Hmm. I think…I think I will tell the others. Perhaps this could start dialogue. Perhaps it will tear us apart. I am fearful, but I am also in pain. None should have to feel as I do for the idea of a false god.”
“You are a brave soul. I’ll gather the others.”
(493 words)
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2100104