He was meant to be the star of someone’s Halloween night, carved bright, lit from within and admired. The celebrations came and went, and no one chose him. Day after day, he watched other pumpkins leave the shelf, destined for doorways, hallways, parties, and pies.
Then came the markdown. A bright yellow sticker slapped across his head — REDUCED. That was the moment something inside him rotted… but not in the way pumpkins usually do.
Now, under the cold glow of a forgotten October moon, he rises in the fog-drenched woods — his once-cheerful face twisted into a jagged grin of razor-like teeth, eyes burning with rejection. The discount label still clings to his skin, a brand of humiliation turned into fury.
