I don't think it occurs to many people to consider the feelings of candy on Halloween. After all, we are believed to be inanimate objects. Of course, that's not true, because I am telling you this now. But while I'm sitting here in a plastic bowl in the shape of a cauldron, awaiting my demise, it's all I can hope that these inferior humans will suddenly wake up and decide not to feed us to their offspring.
Before we get any further into my story, I should probably introduce myself. My name is Taffyta, and, if you haven't already guessed, I am a piece of candy. A piece of strawberry saltwater taffy, to be precise (hence my name). I was purchased from a convenience store a few days ago, to be passed out on (for candy) the most dreaded holiday of the year: Halloween. Since my transaction, I had been sitting on a counter in someone's kitchen up until a few hours ago, when somebody cut open my bag and poured my brethren and I into a festive bowl. Now, every few minutes or so, a group of children will ring the doorbell to beg for candy, and, as I narrowly miss getting picked up by some greedy little child's pudgy fingers, I catch a glimpse of the outside world.
I swear, every bush in the neighborhood is swathed with artificial cobwebs, and every little girl was dressed as some Disney princess or another. The boys came in three varieties: either pirate, skeleton, or ghost. Once I think I saw a pirate-ghost hybrid. Aside from the children, many adults were out on the streets too, either scaring the wits out of each other or accompanying their children to different houses. Also, there were assorted blow-up lawn ornaments as well as fake graves. I should have taken them as an omen of what was to come.
Then, towards the end of the night, when I hadn't been eaten yet, I allowed myself to hope, just a little, that maybe, just maybe, I would be ignored and somebody wouldn't take me from the little plastic bowl I now called home. I couldn't have been more wrong.
The last time I would ever hear a doorbell ring was at 11:39 p.m. precisely, just when all of the festivities were starting to die down. The lady that had been passing out candy the whole night came back to us, grabbed the bowl we were situated in, and started to stride towards the door. She then opened the burgundy door by it's brass knob, and right before somebody reached out and grabbed me, I managed to see my captor.
The boy was around 8 or 9, by my assumption, and he was dressed as, you guessed it, a pirate. He wore a thin felt eye patch over his left eye, with a foam sword stuck in a synthetic leather scabbard. Additionally, he bore a stained white tunic and torn black pants along with a fake parrot somebody had sewed to his shirt. A little bit of his unruly black hair stuck out from bandanna, which was adorned with a grey skull and crossbones. The unpatched eye was an unnatural blue, so light it was almost clear.
And then the lady holding my bowl cooed, and stooped down and allowed the boy to select whichever pieces of candy he wanted. Without hesitation, the boy reached out his grimy little hand and closed it around me. He then dropped me into a little plastic bucket so I landed among his other spoils for the night.
And, dear reader, I don't think I have to tell you the grim details of what happened to little Taffyta after this. I think you know.
