As usual I was attracted to the pumpkin carving activity, for it is in the ‘artsy’ category.

But when the little girls in our group happily stuck the carving saw into the pumpkin, I hesitated.

I felt pain.

It was really sad at this scene. I myself can’t stab the knives into a pumpkin. I felt that it was flesh, fresh, dripping, and even pulsing with all those circulation of cell fluids.

But I did it anyway. I tried to make some nice carving, and made a smiling face on the pumpkin. My friends and I stood before the camera, holding the pumpkin. Cheers.

A pumpkin, unlike clay sculptures, cannot be stored long, and will attract flies. As the only one person living in Rose Main (which is the nearest to the dining hall) in our group, I offered to dump it.

The pumpkin was heavy. When I carried it upstairs it sit in my arms like a baby. It kept the big, carved smile, but it eerily reminded me of the Black Dahlia.

I thrusted it to the trash tunnel, saying ‘sorry buddy’. Dong.

I returned to my room, feeling sarcastic about myself that although I could not even bear carving a pumpkin, I had just failed in my trial of going vegan several days ago.

Sloppy, I called myself, sloppy.

But the mood is far too blue for Halloween. I shook my head, not wanting to continue criticising myself as I had always been doing, and sat down for my homework.