the last night


from pinterest-- again!
he walked forward with the rest of the gang: his head held high in the air, but at the back of the line.

he was dressed the right way-- spiked-up hair, a red snapback, and baggy shorts pulled way lower than his plaid boxers. but he was matt. and he didn't walk with a purpose.

it was hallowe'en night, "trick-or-treat" night for the hordes of small, adorable children who were currently running up driveways of smooth concrete. every so often, a high-pitched squeal could be heard in the otherwise warm and quite night: one of the plastic tarantulas or frankensteins had lunged at an unsuspecting toddler.

"first target!" brandon's voice cut through the night like a knife through soft cheese. he was the leader of the gang, and everyone followed him, regardless of whether they agreed with his choices or not.

"let's go!" his voice came again, low and gravelly and loud and menacing, and matt was almost scared. almost, but he wouldn't admit it to himself. he wouldn't.

the first pumpkin was small and carved with a goofy little grin on its small face. there was a sharpie-d name at the bottom of the pumpkin which said "LAUREN" is big, bold letters.

"one of those stupid school pumpkins," brandon muttered, and picked up the funny little thing and threw it into the street, where it exploded into a million pieces. a small smile spread across his face--

--and a baby's cry of anguish came from within the crystalline windows of the house. lauren. it was little lauren. and the gang fled, running with big, deep strides. they pulled up their shorts as they ran.


"matt, it's your turn!" cried the gravelly voice again, his face alight with raw happiness and the apparently pleasing illegal success.

"fine." and matt knew he sounded stupid. normally, he would have cared, but now he told himself no. it doesn't matter. it isn't my fault.

he walked up to the next house in line, taking as long strides as he could possible manage, and he picked up the small hand-drawn pumpkin with the biggest flourish he could master. it wasn't much.

and he threw it onto the street.

and suddenly a tear started to trace a jagged path down his cheek, and he was running into the night. running and running and running. he didn't know where he was going, and he hardly registered that he was completely and wholly lost.

and then there was a dead end.
the yellow-and-black sign stood there, unmoving, uncaring... and he stopped.

there was nowhere left to run.


Note: This is a half-hour story. It was my first stab at expanding on an idea that had been sitting in my head for a while-- and sometimes raw ideations like this one yield the best results! Perhaps you may want to give it a try.


  1. Beautiful writing! This story is very palpable, and it is such interesting fiction. You have real talent, my friend. Is the capitalization on purpose? Because it adds a nice ghetto touch. :)

  2. I like the minute details that you tack on. It really helps to add dimension & help the reader visualize the story. :] // ☼ ☯

  3. Oh very interesting!

  4. Loved this. Details, details, details. They are the best :)
    Want to swap buttons?


    1. Thank you! I checked out your blog and saw that you already added mine :) I've added your link here.


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