Sweets

(One Last Halloween Short)

Confection by John Andreula

Edited by Kodid Laraque-Two Elk

"No, thank you. I'm off the sweets."

"Really, Franky?" Alyssa rolled her eyes as she turned, a platter of her homemade pumpkin and ghost truffles in her arms. Her black cat tail whipped him in the leg as she turned and headed into the buzz of the crowd just outside the conference room.

Frank had finally kicked his addiction to sugar, but Halloween was always one of those days that came with manic binges of candy, cakes, and everything else made of glucose, fructose, sucrose and any other type of 'ose known to man. It triggered him.

Impulses fired as Frank stood an arm's length away from an assortment of chocolates, candy corn, and the rest of the treats all of Frank's coworkers brought for their annual Halloween celebration.

He thought it would be fun to test himself, offering to set out the food. Now he wasn't sure it had been such a great idea.

'You don't really want any of this,' Frank thought to himself, 'It's not worth how you'll feel afterwards. Plus, you know you won't be able to stop if you start.'

Frank's coworkers, as well as his friends and family, constantly offered, served, and presented all of the things he was trying to avoid eating. Desserts, treats, sugary confections; it had taken an incredible amount of willpower to say no each and every time. But now, finally, it wasn't so hard.

Yet, the sugar was everywhere. Holidays such as Halloween were built around candy companies' ability to hock multi-pound bags of individually wrapped snack sized urges.

Despite the difficulty resisting, Frank was stoked about how things had gone since he decided to abstain. His weight and waistline had decreased significantly. Even his face had gotten skinnier.

Gone were those moments after binging when he felt his blood get thick and his heartbeat quicken. He even felt he didn't worry about diabetes anymore, and that should have been a given, with his family's history.

The results weren't limited to just physical. Frank even like himself more. Every morning he admired his six pack in the mirror. It used to be a muffin top where he now saw lean muscle. And having to buy all those new pants and underwear was his favorite new problem to have.

It made sense why more people didn't kick their addiction like Frank had. Sweets really were, well, sweet. Ice cream sundaes, pies, cakes, Halloween, friends like Alyssa; all of it seemed to judge him for the positive choices and discipline he now exhibited.

It wasn't that long ago, standing in rooms such as this one surrounded by dish upon dish of caramels, chocolates, kettle corn and candy apples, that Frank would have helped himself to heaping plate after plate. No longer.

Frank closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He held the air deep within his lungs. He counted, '1. . .2. . .3. . .4. . .5,' and then exhaled slowly. He repeated the process until his urge passed.

Just outside the glass walls of the conference rooms Frank's coworkers looked like they were having a great time. Frank pictured what each would doing the following night on Halloween. Some would dress as gangsters, presidents, or sexy nurses and go out to bars or house parties. Others would take their kids door-to-door, their children knocking and asking for a collection of processed sugar to call their own.

A few would stay home watching scary movies, one hand in the candy bowl, waiting for the next ring of the doorbell to deal out two or three less pieces than they had just eaten since their last visitor. They'd say things like, "How cute!" or "How scary!" to all the angels, demons, ball-players, and superheroes standing outside on their doorstep.

Frank hated these emotions stirring in his new healthier body. Why did he feel like this? When the heck did he become such a fuddy-duddy?

Frank let out a long sigh. He made his decision. He needed to leave the party before he did something he'd regret. He had to escape this den of temptation, wade through the crowd outside, and say his goodbyes like the lame party-pooper he now was.

Frank took in another deep breath as he pushed the conference room door open. Immediately he was assaulted by the cacophony of laughter and loud conversations. Frank knew he was less than a hundred steps from salvation. He could escape to the solitude of his balanced nutrition and high intensity cardio workouts.

After waving and muttering "See ya" to a few of his peers, Frank came upon the back of a head wearing black cat ears over long curly brown hair. Alyssa turned and faced Frank, her black tray still in her hands. A lone toothy pumpkin truffle smiled up at him. It's smile was matched by the cute, shorter woman.

"There's one left, Frank." Several within the crowd looked on, as if waiting to see how Frank would respond. "It's got your name on it," Alyssa winked and smiled up at him.

Frank sighed. "I guess I'll try it. . ."

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