You recognize the colour. It's orange, right? Yes, you've seen this before. On your blocks at home, in the books your mother reads to you. However, this is different. It's almost like the colour now has a tangible feel to it, its bumpy roughness a wonder to your fingertips.
You had approached the large beings with a slight feeling of trepidation, marveling at its colourful intensity and strange form. Never before had to seen something like this. Your curiosity got the best of you, and you ran ahead to it. There was no hesitation to your touch now.
It was cool, only having been slightly warmed by the noontime sun. You only vaguely realize the presence of your sibling, she being on the other side of the object. There are dozens of these odd bodies laying about, yet your attention was drawn to this one.
Why is that?
There was nothing spectacular about it, nothing special. However, it called to you, imploring you to move toward it. The orange masses had soul, this you knew. This one in particular was intent on sharing itself with you, and you weren't going to refuse the obvious offer.
"Mommy! This one!"
You look up in surprise at your sister, who was pointing at the same being that you had just been exploring. She must have felt it too. The magnetic fascination. It was loaded up and soon you were home, sitting at the kitchen table staring wide-eyed at it. Nearly bursting with curiosity, you started to question your mystical companion, when your mother interrupted.
"I bet you can't wait, sweetie. This will be your first real Halloween."
There she stood, knife in hand. Your eyes widened again, only this time in fear. What was she doing? Without giving you time to react, she violently stabbed the top of the object, cutting a jagged hole in the top.
It cried in silent pain, knowing from the start that its life had been arranged in order to come to this end. You cried with it, not understanding. It was at this time that it spoke to you, quietly conveying the secrets of nature and its life.
When it was all said and done, its lifeless shell sitting on your front steps with a crude smile carved into its flesh, you could not help but feel guilty. But you knew, as it did, that there was nothing that could have stopped this timeless tradition of family massacre. However, you knew that the reprieve it had received from sharing sub-rosa information had alleviated its suffering caused by the hand of your very own parent.
Its secrets, you would carry forever. Never spoken, always remembered.
I just spell-checked it. I didn't read it over, or anything. I never can right after I write it. What do you think? [Cross-posted to my writing journal, oranch.]