Submission (#691) Approved

The forest was quiet, and the trees were still. They stood there, in the dull blue atmosphere, casting shadows onto the grey-ish green grass. A large blue figure stood against a tree, which was dressed in leaves of varying color. Reds, oranges, and yellows sparkled on the oak leaves. The muddy brown trunk creaked in the howling wind, as the fish-like anthropomorphic creature began to walk down the path. The path had been littered with the leaves, the leaves themselves in vibrant colors despite being flattened against the cobblestone path. His name was Poisson, meaning fish in French. He thought this was fitting for himself, and as he slipped into the cool, autumn water, he picked up a bumpy, dull orange spherical gourd. A pumpkin, of course! He scrambled out of the lake he had been residing in, and stumbled over to the oak tree, carrying the pumpkin with him. Sopping with the muddy lake water, he used his sharp claws to carve two triangles into the pumpkin. Sitting back, he admired his precision. Continuing, he drew two curves below the triangles to form a semi-circle. After tediously removing the insides of the pumpkin, he placed a small glowing orb into the pumpkin, letting it illuminate the dark scene. He watched it, the light pulsing as it reflected against his visor, the shimmering light from the reflection creating a pumpkin on the oak tree’s stump. He stepped back. His pumpkin, his pride, was done.


As he wandered back to his small cabin, which was weaved from a seaweed like plant, allowing the cabin to be insulated in the cold temperatures, while still maintaining the ability to absorb water to keep Poisson at a good dew point. Similar to the grass in the morning, scattered with dew droplets. After having a very minimal meal in his cabin, he slowly meandered over to his little porch, carrying his decorated gourd with him. Poisson squatted down, his fish tail slapping down onto the wooden porch, making an almost crackling noise. He set down his pumpkin, the light inside still pulsating and illuminating the area around it. Poisson stepped back, again admiring his work, observing the creativity and precision. Inside, a whistling noise erupted. He was shocked by this noise, but quickly realized it was just his boiling water. Entering his cabin, the pumpkins light slowly began to fade away, as the moon rose above the forest’s warm palette.