My Jack, King of Halloween

My brother lugged them into the kitchen, their large orangy roundness making a thud on the counter top.

Dad pulled knives from a drawer and handed each of us one loaded with warning.

Mom layed out a brown paper bag, ready for the seeds we would pull from the bellies of our soon-to-be lanterns.

I sipped my hot chocolate, the last lone melting marshmellow tickling my nose.   Contenplating my Halloween canvas, I planned my attack and hoped after the smoke had cleared that my opponant looked better than when we started.

My brother changed his mind three times and I thought, ‘At least he consistantly inconsistant.’.   Mom scooped out stringy seeds from the belly of my foe and Dad told us how to hold the knife, stratigized where to make the cut and at what angle would be most beneficial to all invovled.

After we finished and every last piece of orange intestine had been cleaned from the counter, walls and floor we placed them on the porch steps, the eyes we had given them flickering evily.

They were pretty darn cool.  Dad’s camera flashed, freezing our creations in a moment that would outlast the creations themselves.


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