Smashing Pumpkins
That’s what I always think of when someone mentions pumpkins.
That could mean a number of things. I like to smash pumpkins into little pieces. I like to listen to the Smashing Pumpkins. This is a smashing tasting pumpkin.
Which reminds me of a time back in the early 1990s. Here is one of those confession times. I did something very silly.
I decided to use an empty can of coke as a rugby ball. Ok, that part is not unique. “Kicking your can all over the place,” is something must young people have done, from time to time.
I thought I would be clever and make myself a mound for the can. I decided to use what was available. Stones.
That seems reasonable, except I forgot to take into account something important. I am actually in a car park behind the house of my friend. His neighbour lives upstairs and has parked his car.
Stones plus window equals smash.
The back window to his car is completely shattered. I’m going to be in trouble.
I could own up. Did I?
No. I didn’t own up. I went to get a beer with my friend instead. We decided between us that we would not mention this to anyone.
Thankfully, I never did get into trouble for it. The secret remains intact.
It was a silly moment, I will admit.
I’ve got far bigger skeletons in the closet. They should haunt me. But they don’t.
Time to rest.
But something spooky is going on. There is a knock at the door to the closet.
Oh no, my sins are catching up with me. I’m going to stay here. I’m not going to open the closet door.
Go away.
The knocking did eventually stop.
It is the next morning. I walk to the closet. I open the door. I see something that I really didn’t expect to see.
A giant pumpkin.
Smashing.
Freewrite story, prompt by 
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