Hello, I’m Bertha and I’m a pumpkin. Now let me get this straight: I hate being a pumpkin. Now, you’re probably wondering, why would you hate being a pumpkin? You tell me. Who would like to be bought, carved, and displayed on a doorstep as people watched you mold to your death? Tell me, WHO? Certainly not me. Well, okay, that’s not the only reason I hate being a pumpkin. Just listen to my story…
It all started on a chilly morning. I was sitting on a table with a sign that read: “$5 a Pumpkin”’ on my gorgeous face. At this time, I had no idea what I was going to go through. I just sat there on the table sitting up very straight. After what seemed like hours of waiting, some toddler carrying a collection of compelling rubber duckies came up to me. I sat up straighter. “Duddy! I want a pw-um-kin! I want a pwumkin!” cried the child. The “duddy” rolled his eyes and paid for a pumpkin as the young little girl stood on her tiptoes and picked me up and off the table so she could bring me home. Mentally, I was rejoicing! I looked back at the pumpkins that hadn’t gotten picked and stuck out my tongue. Then, I realized that pumpkins can’t stick out their tongue. Oh well.
Once we got home, the little girl took me out of the trunk and carried me inside her home. She went straight to the kitchen and put me on a kitchen counter. Then, she dug out a carving knife and started to plunge the knife straight into my unblemished little body. Just before the knife hit my body, the dad rushed into the room and exclaimed: “Woah! Hands off the knife, Bonnie!” Bonnie simpered. “Sworry duddy… I wanted to carve Bertha a tiny little face!” Bonnie murmured cutely. Wait, did she say Bertha? Is that my name? Ew.
Okay, so now you sort of know why I don’t like being a pumpkin. Humans’ constant need to carve me makes me go insane. Plus, is the knife really necessary? Like, do you have to plunge a sharp thing-a-majig into me? Just use something else, like a toothbrush! I’m telling you, that would hurt WAY less.
The next day happened to be this thing called Halloteen. Or was it Hallokeen? Or maybe it was Halloween? I don’t really know. Anyways, from what I’d heard from Bonnie, she said she would go “trick-or-treating” around her neighborhood. Like what is trick-or-treating anyway? Then, she changed into a bright pink unicorn onesie and yanked her pillowcase off of her pillow. “I’m gwoing to school now, Bertha. I heard they are giving out cwandy!” Bonnie squealed as she gestured to her pillowcase. “When I come home, we will go trick-or-treating! I’m so excited!” Then, she flashed an adorable, toothy little smile.
A couple of hours later, Bonnie came back from school. She instantly picked me up and carried me to the front door. Then, she stepped outside and danced across the front yard. “La-la-la-la!” she sang joyfully. She carried me in her arms and spun around and around. Soon, we were both very dizzy. In her dizziness, Bonnie lost contact with me, and I flew through the air. I landed with a splat on the ground as I felt my insides push outwards and ooze all over the grass. I moaned. Bonnie stood over me and looked at me with giant curious eyes. Then, she cautiously picked me up. Or, what was left of me at least. She ran to her dad and started crying big fat tears. I rolled my non-existent eyes. She was crying? I was the one that got splattered on the ground!
Later that evening, Bonnie and her dad attempted to tape me back together. Let me just say, it did NOT work. They displayed me on their doorstep as Bonnie and her dad went trick-or-treating around different neighborhoods. I watched the sun set slowly as kids in horrifying costumes came to my doorstep, grabbed candy, and went to the next house. I never felt so alone. Then, all of a sudden, a boy in a fat pumpkin costume ran over. I silently jumped for joy. The pumpkin guy was dressed up like me! I felt so special! I was officially a role model! Soon, the boy grabbed a handful of candy, though I’m sure the sign read “Only Take One!” He was about to turn around and head to the next house but then caught sight of me. He picked me up with his curious little eyes fixed on me. “It’s a pumpkin!” he exclaimed.
Then, his voice turned bitter. “Hey! You copied me! I am the original pumpkin. How dare you!” Then, to my horrified surprise, he hurled me at the doorstep, and I broke into even more pieces than the first time. I started wailing, though I’m sure it sounded more like pumpkin goo oozing. “Hehehe!” shouted the boy as he threw his head back in laughter. I immediately felt such hate towards him that simply cannot be described in words. I guess something might have changed inside me, because I felt different, and not the good different. A bad different. But just to make sure we’re on the same page, I definitely wasn’t dead. All I felt was the pain, but was even greater than the pain, was the desire to exact revenge.
Once Bonnie and her dad got home from trick-or-treating, they found me splattered all over the doorstep. Bonnie seemed to care only about me. Her dad, on the other hand, only seemed to care about the messy doorstep. He mumbled words under his breath I couldn’t quite hear. All I got out was ‘this pumpkin’ and ‘utter disaster.’ The next few hours were a blur. There was a lot of crying on Bonnie’s part and a lot of comforting on her dad’s part. Soon, they decided it was best to throw me out. At this point, I didn’t care. I would do whatever it took to find that nasty boy. It’s about time this boy knew the definition of karma. Plus, they threw me out in a moveable trash can with wheels. I would go twice as fast to find the boy! I started plotting my vengeance and soon had a well-developed plan within an hour or so. Revenge was going to be sweet!
By Sarah Tea ‘30, Contributing Writer
