Life used to be good. I had a lot of brothers and sisters. When we were born, Mama swaddled us all up in our wrapper blankies to take our naps. We got all cozy together in a big bag, and we only woke up when we heard the bag rrrrrrrip open.
We were poured into a big, orange bowl.
Shaking and scared, we waited. Then it happened.
DING-DONG.
Hands. Tiny, sticky hands reaching in and grabbing handfuls of my brothers and sisters. I watched them go until finally it was my turn.
A witch was the one who grabbed me. She was short, for a witch, but I know she was a witch because of her pointy black hat and her green face.
Oooh, she was spooky. She put me in a bucket with a bunch of other mismatched candies, and I was jostled around with the Dots and the Sweetarts.
Finally we were all dumped out onto a table, and I heard someone say, “I need to check them for poison.”
Poison?! Had I been poisoned? I felt myself start to sweat. Suddenly my wrapper felt a little too tight.
“How about this one?” someone said, picking me up.
“No!” yelled the tiny witch. “Tootsie rolls are my favorite!”
“Oh all right,” they set me back on the table and picked up the Sweetarts. Those poor Sweetarts gave me one last horrified look before their wrapper was ripped open and... poof! They were gone.
I was shaking so bad I don’t know how they didn’t see me.
Then the tiny witch grabbed me. She ripped off my wrapper. I saw her mouth get closer and closer until... poof! I was gone too.
I was stuck in her teeth! I WAS BEING EATEN! I tried to yell for help but then I remembered I don’t have vocal chords.
But then.
Then I realized… it wasn’t so bad.
Can you believe it? Being eaten was just fine. It sort of felt like…. Fulfilling my destiny. Maybe there’s nothing to be scared of after all.
I just read this with my boys. They loved it. We had to read it twice, the second time with tootsie rolls in hand.
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