Pumpkin

I found it on my doorstep one day after taking out the trash. I hate taking out the trash; it is such a Sisyphean endeavour, and yet, that day, it was as if I was pushed and pulled outside with the rubbish bag in my hand. I don’t believe I saw it on my way out. However, quickly tiptoeing in my slippers through the wet grass, I found myself back on the doorstep, and I saw it. It was round and orange and big. Disproportionately big, for sure. I didn’t know where it came from. It appeared at random. I looked behind me to see if I could see anybody leaving, but the street was still and crispy from the autumnal winds. There was no one in sight, even the cats lazily protecting the neighbourhood were nowhere to be seen. I wasn’t sure what to do with it, other than take it inside. I put it on the table in the middle of the living room. I sat in the chair, watching it. The more I looked, the more beautiful it was in my eyes. Sensational. There was no scar, no dirt, nothing wrong with it. Pure perfection, created by nature. I wasn’t even entirely sure if it was real. Maybe it was worth cutting into it? But this would require destroying its beauty, and that I was not ready for. I kept looking at it as the clock was ticking on the wall.

I was meant to see a friend tonight, but I didn’t want to take my eyes off the item. Some force was pushing me to watch it and make sure it was okay. It was mine, after all. This sudden ownership scared me a little. I was responsible for something. For the first time in my life, I had to care about something. But I felt ready. I cancelled my plans. When the evening came, I reluctantly left the living room and went into the bedroom. I felt lonely and abandoned without the item with me, so I had the impulse to bring it with me. However, as I placed my hands on the cover to remove it, I felt under it the soft surface of the object. It was here, with me already. I didn’t speculate over this strange turn of events. I was delighted to find the object next to me. I embraced it and fell into a deep slumber.

I had restless dreams all night. Dreams of donkeys and pigs destroying the beauty I was holding close to me. I had to protect it at all costs. I woke up groggy and disappointed with a horrible night’s sleep. I called in sick that day. The item has taken over my entire mind; I could think of nothing else.

I realised that it was only her and me because it was a she, she needed to be protected from the outside world, from everything that could hurt her. I created a little altar, a higher place for her to sit on, so I could worship her day and night and night and day. It was my little reminder that everything was going to be fine as long as she was there with me.

These were long days of glory when every day I watched her and polished her surface to ensure the glory. I sang to her, I worshipped, I did everything she might have needed.

One day, whilst polishing her, I realised that a side of her started to get mouldy. I started panicking – how could this happen? I didn’t know how to help her; she was rotting from within, and they were after her. Nature was taking its course, and I couldn’t stop it. I wept, and I wept, but it was just getting worse. I tried to hold it together, I put a plaster on the wound, but it kept growing and expanding.

Eventually, in the great time of anger, I shouted, ‘Why are you doing this to me? You can’t die! You’re what I hold most dear, you are the only reason for me to stay here, there is nothing else that lets me forget. Please return.’ But the more I shouted, the angrier I got, and she could not be fixed. Day after day, I tended to her side, hoping for improvement, but the mould was spreading, and I could see the chunks of fleshy orange fall onto the side as she was disintegrating. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I stabbed at her with a kitchen knife until there was nothing else but pulp. At least I was able to make it easier on her before she fully turned into mush. At least she died at my hand, someone who cared. I was about to proceed to stab myself too, as I had nothing left to live when I heard a knock on the door.

I opened the door slowly, still covered in her mush, with the kitchen knife remaining in my hand. I saw a young woman, smiling, looking at me. She asked me wonderingly:

 ‘Excuse me, have you seen my pumpkin?’