PUMPKIN
Pumpkin was definetly the right choice, you think, as you pierce into the hollow bits of shell with molars and grind them into a mushed pulp. The pumpkin is cold. You retch as gooey strings of bitter pumpkin fiber, and seeds stick to the back of your throat and wrap your tongue. Choking up half chewed slabs of pumpkin, and snaped seeds you catch your breath and continue. Tart pumpkin flavored floss connects and lodges between your bottom teeth. Teary eyed and pale you tremble with vehemence. you begin to pick the orange ropes from your pearly whites with your smallest finger.
>Finish up.
You grip your plate from Calliope as gently as your shaken hands will allow and lick it clean. She gazes apon you in disbelief. Visibly shaken at your feat. Roxy stands over you contently.
