A Halloween Fantasy

autumn_leaves

I’ve never written fiction. Here’s a first attempt, prompted by the Web site mentioned in the story. I liked doing it and look forward to doing it again.

When I got home that night, I noticed the smiling jack-o-lantern in my front yard was crushed. I reckoned the neighborhood kids had used it for a football, again. No bother, I’ll just get another — carving pumpkins is an enjoyable, artistic diversion for me.

I went inside. After securing the door, I dropped my purse and jacket on the nearest chair, then bolted for the refrigerator. I was famished. After pulling a couple of eggs, a salvageable block of moldy cheddar, a scallion, and scraps of ham leftover from a recent sandwich, I whisked, shredded, and chopped. While the eggs were setting in a warming pan on the stove, I poured myself a glass of rather tart Rosé, then layered the remaining ingredients into the pan.

I plated the omelet, grabbed the wine glass and utensils, then planted myself at the dining table. While eating, I opened my MacBook; I had mail. The one from medium.com contained an invitation to submit to Coffeelicious’s “first-ever writing prompt.” Buoyed by the prospect of writing something outside my normal fare, I contemplated my relationship to Halloween and how it’s evolved over the years.

As a child, I could hardly wait to play adult-sanctioned dress-up while charging around the neighborhood, collecting as much candy as I could, then stashing a couple of handfulls where my parents wouldn’t find it, I thought. As a young adult, the holiday became another excuse for excessive alcohol consumption, whether costumed or not. When I had children, I fussed over their costumes and monitored their trick-or-treat goodies as much as my parents had. I can still picture the fairy princess and the pirate returning with brimming bags of loot.

Now that I’m older, with children and grandchildren half a continent away, my participation is much more subdued. Tomorrow I’ll shop for candy and pumpkins, then carve a fresh face into one. I’ll keep the other in reserve in case the new pumpkin becomes the victim of third-and-long. When All Hallows Eve arrives, I’ll distribute goodies to the new generation ghosts, goblins, and Super Girls. And for a brief moment, maybe I’ll experience the all-encompassing joy I had when I was a ballerina.