Madison Goddard - October 28, 2024
Artwork: "Pumpkins" - Audrey Walker
Its orange and smooth shell, plumped and rounded, is interwoven through reaching vines. They grab onto tall posts, curl their little arms around them, and flare their pointed leaves upward.
I cut off a large pumpkin from the vine and carry it in my arms. I am careful to set it down, not to bruise the grooved shell. It is so beautiful, so round, so perfect. I smile at Mother Nature’s beautiful creation.
He flicks his pocket knife and begins to cut before I can protest.
I swear by his hand, the pumpkin dies. The silver knife cuts into the shell with jagged motions, and much effort, and a thick rotten smell tugs on my nose. He breathes it in and out without flinching, looking only at the pumpkin. His teeth were hidden behind the curtains of his lips. The shell wrinkles under his fingertips. Slicing open the top, he reveals pounds and pounds of gray, fuzzy seeds. “You like it?” The carver’s eyes don’t twinkle, don’t shine. They wilt, and tears set in.
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