October Writing Prompt
Bonni Rambatan

When I got home that night, I noticed the smiling jack-o-lantern in my front yard was crushed. It pissed me off to no end — — not so much because now the pumpkin was a slovenly shadow of its former self, a piece of toothy squash clinging to the stair while the rest of it was strewn across the lawn, but because of the abject childishness of the act. Although, to be fair, me stealing it from the neighbour’s porch four blocks away was also childish, but in an impish sort of way.

This, this act of terror on my hard stolen booty, could only be the work of my roommate’s brother, Nick. Whenever Nick showed up on the scene, you could bet the situation was getting amped up to DEFCON 1. I truly believe he can’t exist in any space on this planet without causing massive amounts of turmoil, and I would bet all my bitcoins that he was eating the tootsie rolls out of the Halloween candy right now as I stomped my way up the stairs.

I pushed the door open so hard it smashed into the wall, reverberated slightly, and swung back smacking me right in the face. Even in my watery-eyed recovery I could see him sprawled across my favourite chair, tootsie roll enroute to his Mic Jagger-like lips. He guffawed loudly at my “grand entrance” and yelled out, “Steve, your dorky roommate Melissa is home, and it DOES NOT look like she got your text about picking up more beer!”

“Did you smash my pumpkin?!” I stammered out through gritted teeth; my cheeks were flaming from the anger and from the bite in the cold October air. He just smirked as he popped another mini tootsie roll in his cake hole. Chewing it with an open mouth while sneering at me with a look that was a cross between smug older brother and creepy dude across the street who offered sweets to young girls. “Well, did you?” I repeated.

He shrugged as he picked through the candy bowl for another tootsie roll, “Well, maybe I did and maybe I didn’t. Whatcha gonna do about it, dork?” I truly had forgotten they were in the bag until I swung it at his face and heard one of the beer bottles connect with his teeth. It surprised me at how easy the tooth gave up its root and flung itself out of his mouth coming to rest on the arm of the chair; clinging to it while the rest of the candy in the bowl was strewn about the living room. As he looked up at me, mouth open in shock, blood flowing from the gaping hole were his tooth had been, I plucked the tootsie roll out of his hand and said, “Don’t you know these are not good for your teeth?”