No. Not today. Thank you.
I was sitting there quietly, minding my own business, when a mad witch magicked me out of the ether to deliver some damsel to a ball. Did anyone ask me what it was I wanted to do? Did they even care that I had a spot of moon bathing planned for my night out on the pumpkin patch? No Siree. Go fetch.
Still. It could’ve been worse. Some maniac may have taken to carving out my ribbed skin and sticking candles in my underbelly just for the fun of it. Oh wait. That happens too. Halloween they call it; a pumpkin’s worst nightmare. You sit there scared half to death, a fake grin cut across your face while a merciless flame burns whatever of your insides survived the pulping. Savages.
I wanted to be an artist. That dream of modest stardom was squashed long ago. All scooped out, I am but the footnote in someone else’s storyline.