Disclaimer: Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.
Warnings: Erm... Gory?
Note: Just a little something that wouldn't leave me alone unless I wrote it.
"Come on, you never do anything with us."
"It'll be fun – you can do the cutting."
"You'll enjoy it, I promise. It's all dark and gloomy out too – great for the general mood."
"We won't even make you go out after, just please join in with the cutting, would you? It's tradition, you know."
The blade pierced the flesh easily, sliding in and out as if through butter. It followed the carefully drawn out pattern exactly, twisting and winding, yet never wavering from a single line or cutting a single corner and finally hitting back where it started. The section was removed, the inside revealed.
Hands dove in to remove the juicy entrails. Slippery, slimy strands covered the surface, quickly wiped off by eager fingers as they continued to scrape away. The knife cut deeper in to pull out the harder parts – fingernails couldn't dig into the tough skin.
The blade started its wild dance again; it cut away sections from the face – the eyes and the mouth – turning them into malicious features. The swift movements nearly breaking free of the dead-straight lines. Slowly, it began to take form: a face – a malevolent expression, a foot – a gnarled set of toes. The one with the knife was satisfied.
The design was freaky yet somewhat arousing. The crazily winking eye blended into the spiteful, many-fanged grin perfectly. Smaller, beadier shapes surrounded the diameter like millions of staring eyes. Sections cut from the bottom created sharp, clawed feet, and made it look as if it was crouched in wait.
Slowly the knife wound its way around the remains of the body; taking a chunk here, fixing a patch there, making sure the outline was faultless. A set of miniature candles was plucked from nearby, a finger smoothed over the firm wax of one before gently placing it inside. Small scissors snipped the wicks to the right height. It was almost perfect.
A small chip of wood was roughly slashed across sandpaper and a flame erupted from the tip. It was dropped into the hollowed out space – directly onto a waiting candle. The next match flickered as it lit the second candle, and then the third. The flare went out with a soft puff of breath. A pale hand reached out behind, caught the light switch and turned it off.
The pumpkin glowed brightly, flashing its grinning silhouette on the opposite wall and Boris smiled at the result. Perhaps there was something good about Halloween – after all, he'd yet to come across something else legal that could be described so… Wickedly.
"Oh! It's amazing!"
"See? We told you it'd be fun."
"And you were right. But I'm not eating the crap from inside it – tradition or not."
Happy Halloween!