Halloween was the best time of the year

At least for me it was— because I didn’t have to hide my true nature, I didn’t have to hide behind a mask of nicety or charm

I could be myself— unapologetic, sharp-edged, a little monstrous in ways that finally felt honest.

On Halloween, no one flinched when my smile lingered too long, or when my eyes caught on things they shouldn’t. No one asked me to soften my voice, to be kinder, to explain myself. Darkness was expected. Strangeness was celebrated. The things I carried every other day—those impulses, those thoughts—were suddenly just part of the costume.

Funny how a single night could grant that kind of permission.

The streets glowed with jack-o’-lantern grins, crooked and feral, and for once I felt reflected in them. Everyone else was pretending to be something else—ghosts, villains, creatures from nightmares—while I was pretending to be normal the rest of the year.

On Halloween, the lie reversed.

People wore masks, while i took mine off

The air felt thinner without it, sharper somehow. Every sound carried farther. Laughter scraped instead of soothed, and fear—other people’s fear—hung sweet and electric, like ozone before a storm. I walked through it unguarded, feeling seen without being known, exposed without being questioned. No one demanded I translate myself into something palatable. No one asked why. They simply nodded, as if to say: Of course you’re like this. It’s Halloween.

And oh did i have my eyes on her

Her friends were all wearing slutty costumes, the same one she was probably forced into, a tight corset —something lace and black, all angles and skin, a costume chosen less for her than for the idea of her, a short black skirt that barely covered her ass, and high boots up to her knees, on her hair, cat ears sat as she sipped on her drink, and i watched, waited, until she was alone

I stepped closer, letting the hum of the party fade behind me. “Alone at last,” I said, voice low, letting the night hold the weight of everything unspoken.