Trick or Diabetes

Trick or Diabetes

I want you to picture something.

It's Halloween night. The frigid air has been well and truly penetrated by the smell of burning wood and gun powder.

Illegal fireworks scream and cry, making your quiet little suburb feel more like Baghdad than home.

It's 5pm and the sun is already gone. It won't be long until you here the first knock at your door...

You peek through the blinds to bear witness as groups of miniature ghouls and super heroes sprint from house to house, screaming and giggling. They appear to move in slow motion, lit by flashes of light from the explosions in the sky.

Your gaze tracks back to your own driveway, but it's no longer empty. A dark stump is stood by the gate, clutching a reusable supermarket bag.  'Why is it just standing there?' you think you yourself.

A rocket explodes above your house sending a brief flash of light bouncing of its dark eyes.

It's scanning your house. Searching for a flicker of light, a twitch of movement. Something, anything to indicate that someone is home.

Another rocket explodes overhead, this time in front of the house. The explosion is replayed in your eyes. A burst of green sparks that exposes your position.

It begins it's march up the driveway.

This is the fattest one you've seen so far this year. Ironically he's dressed in a skeleton outfit, but it doesn't hide his puffy red cheeks. Poor little guy is out of breath from running across the road. He's only eight years old or so, it's kind of hard to tell when you're looking at obese kids, but he's gassed. He's running on pure desire for sugar.

His shitty parents are probably following slowly behind. He was too impatient to wait for them. All of the good stuff would be gone if he waddled along at their pace.

'Ah for fuck's sake' you think to yourself. It's not nice to see kids so young this overweight. And now you are expected to open the door and give him fatty, sugary treats.

'This is like giving junkies free heroin,' you think to yourself. It's what they want but definitely not what they need. But you're not a miserable prick. It's Halloween. It's fun, you did the same when you were a kid and you loved it. Why deny some other kid of that same joy? It's not your fault he's fat, that's the parents. Or maybe society. Or the food industry. One of them, but not you.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

His fat little hand is banging on the door now. 'Should I just give him a piece of fruit?' you think to yourself. 'Would he even eat it? Probably not...'

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Impatient little bugger too.

You open the door and give him his sweets. He seemed polite. His chubby little face lit up when you dropped that fun size Mars bar into his bag. Now you feel bad. You judged this kid pretty hard. Poor little fucker. He's got a battle ahead of him.

 

The Shit that Stings

The Shit that Stings

A System is Born

A System is Born