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Down the street, you walked en masse,
tumbling, stumbling, your faces veiled.
I watched humanity, fragile like glass
as I entered a world of color, not pale.

You celebrated in high spirits and vitality,
begging for treats in your small packs.
This day marked one of human prosperity,
but I was not one who understood your acts.

You strutted in getups feared yesteryear
and disguised as beasts regarded with dread.
But today you embraced the fright with a cheer,
forgetting the foreboding fables once said.

On days of peace, you detested my shadow,
but on days of the dead, you came willingly.
The stronger the horror, the greater the show,
and I observed in interest, though cynically.

A boy, so young, approached me then,
asking where I obtained my peculiar disguise.
With a tilt of my head, I explained yet again
that speaking to me will result in surprise.

The boy only laughed with a punch, a nudge,
another human cue I did not understand.
As he ran to his mother, his mind did not budge,
and the scent of sweet roses permeated unplanned.

Like a plague, I lingered amongst you all,
standing, waiting for your time to arrive.
The clock ticked a beat, a rhythm, a call,
and the final moments of the night burst alive.

Perhaps three, or four, or five minutes more,
but fate did not pause for human propriety.
The screams came with a loud bang, a roar,
the faint chuckles of fright with an air of gaiety.

Great hues of orange and black flickered like light,
while you still thrummed with the thrill of unease.
Each peak was a perilous hit, a new height, a delight,
but tonight, you leave and go as you please.

It was odd, always quite odd indeed.
I could not understand all your peculiarities.
From your joy of fear to your resistance to bleed,
all I could see was a chest filled with irregularities.

Away I went, my path leading below
as I smelled roses and listened to merry screams.
You humans were a mystery I could not let go
especially on that fateful day you called Halloween.

About Author

Gina Kotinek

Gina Kotinek is the founder and Editor-in-Chief of the SPOT Lit. She can usually be found hunched over her computer, reading, writing, or searching for the art of conquering carpal tunnel and tendonitis.