Struggling writer. The Unwanted Pumpkin
The Cucurbit family happily bathed in the sunshine of their Devonshire home. The Cucurbits, otherwise known as ‘the Sumo family,’ the largest of the pumpkin family, and therefore highly respected within the vegetable farming community, had a shameful secret, and that was, Hubert.
Hubert was tiny, being at the end of his Mother's stem, and the furthest away from the feeding hose which pumped essential minerals to help the family grow. Poor Hubert, received very little nutrition, and did not grow as well as his brothers and sisters. Mr Cucurbit, a large, proud pumpkin, was less than happy with Hubert, but being a gentleman, he allowed Hubert to stay. Although, when his wife wasn't looking, he encouraged the crows to peck at Hubert. Hence, the reason his wife constantly covered her son with her heart shaped leaves.
Poor Hubert. It was bad enough being small, and scarred by the numerous beak attacks on him at an early age, but the lack of sunshine hardly improved his complexion. Whilst his brothers and sisters glowed with a deep orange tan, he was a rather pale yellow. He never smiled; he was too unhappy.
The summer had been wonderful, and the Cucurbit family was extremely healthy, even Hubert was healthy considering his circumstances.
‘Hey Hubert,’ shouted Ernest, his big brother, and by far the most friendliest of all his brothers and sisters. ‘Are you looking forward to Halloween.’
‘Halloween, what’s that?’ asked Hubert, peering out from beneath his leaf, taking care to keep an eye on the sky. He was rather cautious of the crows.
‘Hasn’t Mum told you yet. It's our big day. The farmer will collect us, and take us to decorate homes all over the country. Why?’ said Ernest, laughing so much he almost split his skin. ‘Because … it’s Halloween, you little twit.’
‘But why? What’s Halloween?’ asked Hubert, quickly pulling the leaf back over his head, as he spotted a crow perch on the fence.
‘You have to ask Mum. She should have told you. Mind you, she said they only like big pumpkins, so maybe you're not coming with us,’ called Ernest. All the other pumpkins giggled.
A small drop of sweet water oozed from the top of Hubert’s head.
‘You alright under there?’ asked his Mum.
‘What’s Halloween, Mum?’ asked Hubert.
Mrs Cucurbit's skin wrinkled a little. ‘Why do you want to know?’
Hubert peeked out again from under his leaf. ‘Ernest said I’m too small. What am I too small for?’
His Mum sighed, and then inflated herself with a slurp of water. ‘Ah! You see Hubert. The humans they take us into their homes, and cut faces similar to their own, but much more frightening.’
‘Why?’ asked Hubert,
‘To frighten away ghosts: especially on Halloween. Or course, we vegetables know there are no such things as ghosts.’ She flicked at her leaves as a slug attempted to take a nibble.
Hubert didn’t believe in ghosts either, but he knew what it was like to be frightened especially by the crows. ‘But why?’ he asked again.
Mrs Cucurbit sighed. ‘At Halloween humans have big parties they like to frighten each other, and we help. We’re very popular around this time. I’m so looking forward to going to one with all my children.’ She uncoiled a creeper and reached down to tap Hubert. He sounded hollow, and she knew he would not grow any bigger. ‘Except of course you, my darling.’
More tears ran down Hubert’s face. ‘Me! Why am I being left behind, Mum?’
‘Hubert, my little pumpkin. I’m so sorry. You’re just not up to standard.’ She stretched her vine to reach him and give him a cuddle. ‘We Cucurbits have our family name to protect.
Hubert slid further beneath his leaf, and wept silently. The next day he heard a large van drive into the farm.
‘Bye Hubert.’ His family called one by one. ‘Bye….’
The van drove away and left Hubert all alone in the pumpkin patch. The air chilled as night approached, and the frost bit into his stalk, which gave him quite a headache. The next morning, Hubert noticed his leaf was starting to turn brown and curl slightly, and he knew he would not be able to hid from the crows much longer. During the summer, their big, yellow peaks managed a couple of pokes into Hubert before the farmer’s machine scared them away. Bang! Bang, bang. Caw, caw, caw called the crows, and promised to return in the autumn. This time the clanking of the scarecrow gun would not save him: Hubert watched as the farmer dismantled it. Hubert shivered, and tried to pull his skin closer to his marrow: he felt so cold, and so, so alone.
#
The next day, the farmer cut, pulled, and tossed Hubert onto the pile of rotten cabbages and carrots. All rejected as not being up to standard. Hubert lay upside down, and felt worse than he had ever felt in his entire life. He wished the crows would come, but they didn’t.
A day passed, and a lorry came to take the vegetables to the large factory to be boiled, and used as pigswill. As Hubert waited with the other vegetables, a little boy, the driver’s six-year-old son picked him up.
‘Hey Dad, can I have this? It’s Halloween tonight,' asked the little boy.
‘The supermarkets have better one's that, Billy. It’s pathetic looking,’ said the lorry driver.
‘No, he’s perfect,’ said Billy, picking some mouldy cabbage leaves off Hubert’s head.
#
Billy sat in his kitchen, and looked at Hubert. Billy had freckles the same colour as Hubert’s coat, and a cheeky smile that Hubert liked. ‘You’re perfect. I’m going to call you the ‘Littlest Pumpkin’ and I hope you help me win the prize' said Billy. 'Mr Benson, in the High Street, is running a competition for the happiest-looking pumpkin, and displaying all the entries in his window. The prize is a bike. I always wanted a bike, but Dad can’t afford it. The boys at school make fun of me because I don’t have one. Everyone will put in big pumpkins, but you’re different because you’re so small. Everyone will notice you.’
Carefully, Billy carved a pair of eyes, a nose, and huge happy smile on Hubert. It felt good to smile, thought Hubert. Then Billy placed a candle stump inside his tummy, heating Hubert for the first time like a warm plate of soup. Hubert felt happier than he had before on the Pumpkin patch, and his happy smile seemed to make everyone who looked at him smile too.
Billy proudly carried Hubert to Mr Benson's store, and carefully placed him in the window at the back; there was no room at the front.
‘Hey, it’s Hubert,’ shouted Ernest, as a tubby looking boy placed him beside Hubert. ‘How did you get here?’
‘Billy put me here. He wants to win the bike. I hope he does; I like him,’ said Hubert, as Mr Benson picked him up and placed in the front of his window.
‘Think I’ll put this little fella to the front,’ said Mr Benson, smiling.
‘Nobody is going to choose you as the winner, you’re too small,’ shouted Ernest, with a wicked smile. His smile had large pointed fangs, and frightened Mr Benson’s cat.
Hubert didn’t listen, and smiled as hard as good.
‘What a cute little pumpkin face,’ said all the judges, and awarded Billy first prize. Hubert grinned as he and Billy smiled for the local newspaper photographer, but he felt a little sad as he watched the tubby boy smash Ernest into the bin in a fit of temper.
‘Right then, little pumpkin. What shall I do with you, now?’ asked Billy.
‘Hubert was afraid now, but he kept smiling. He hadn’t thought about what would happen to him after the contest. He worried he would end up like Ernest.