The Death of a Pumpkin by Bri Van Reenen

The Death of a Pumpkin by Bri Van Reenen

A rotting Pumpkin oozes somewhere off the highway, with not even a bit of roadkill to keep him company. He stares at his own shadow as the sun rises, watching as it slowly moves on the pavement. Sitting there involuntarily, he cannot help feeling resentful.

‘It was a nice life,” he groans, thinking back to a time where he could glow from the inside-out — both literally and figuratively. Things feel so grim now, as if he were a mere ghost of his former self. At least he could have passed slowly and sweetly on that front porch, if it were not for a selfish and lovesick werewolf. As he sat there before, watching the last of the trick-or-treaters go home with their treasures, he experienced his last moments of peace before becoming a mere prize for a goblin who apparently had an appreciation for the art of pumpkin carving. He was a stolen gift, and a strange one at that, yet he would still appreciate the sentiment between lovers if it did not involve his own victimization. With life as short as it is for a pumpkin, he cannot imagine how other creatures can choose to spend their moments together like this— so quick to throw things away, as he very directly witnessed.

But I guess he did spend his life just sitting around...