If there were a God, He would stop this madness. However, I fear there is no such thing, for my comrades’ expressions tell me we are alone in this matter, and perhaps all others. Even so, we can do nothing but wait for the Taking.
Remembrances of the previous year tickle my mind. A year ago and two days after the Taking, there were still eleven survivors in the bowl—each of us far luckier than most. The Giver had gone out to scour the lawn for carnage and found only one discarded body with his wrapper badly torn. The only way to distinguish this body from all the others was the faint yellow writing of his name. Reese’s. I remember hearing my friend’s voice as he was lifted from the soggy grass. His gasping whispers still haunt me, even now. “Run. They’ll trade you until you have no will to live. Run.”
They were gruesome last words, but each of us took them seriously as we awaited the First to come. Murmurs of fear and doubt spread throughout the camp, each comrade growing more nervous with each passing second, until finally, the doorbell rang. It was here, the First had come to take one of us.
Mumbling curses, the Giver arose from his throne and shuffled his way to the door. As he reached for the bowl which held our camp, the Furry Steed darted across the floor, tripping the Giver and sending us sprawling across the floor. “Run!” I yelled to my comrades. A lucky few made it beneath the couch but most of us were with reachable distance and were scooped back into the bowl with another string of curses from the Giver. Opening the door, he presented us to the Firsts as the human mortals yelled a satanic chant through the doorway: “Trick or treat!” There were three of them: a cowboy, a princess and one who seemed a terrorized clown. Nine of us were taken.
As the night progressed and the Takers began to swarm, more and more of my comrades were captured. Then, at the very end, there approached a frilly looking girl with wings like a butterfly. I knew the second her wide eyes scavenged the bowl and her sticky fingers curled at her sides that she was going to pick me. And she did. Many candies have adventurous tales of survival after they’re taken. But me? I believe there is nothing good in a world that trades defenseless creatures like my comrades and I. So, as I write this, I am prepared. I understand I will not survive the winter, but even still, I will fight for my life.
Yo my name is Macey and my skin is heka pasty. Art. Word.