The Squish Family Marshmallow
By HDWhen the woman placed a yellow box full of Peeps marshmallows in the pantry, it got the whole Jet-Puffed bag that I call home talking.
I live with my grandparents now, because my dad died in the Microwave and my mom was eaten as an after-school snack. My grandma was looking very worried about something. I can always tell when she’s stressed out because her usually dry, white face starts perspiring.
“Grandma, are you OK?”
“Oh, I’m fine, I’m fine. Don’t you worry, Marshimus,” she told me.
“What’s up with the new marshmallows?” I asked.
“They seem decent to me,” my grandpa said.
I ran into my section of the bag, where my twin brother Mallow and older brother Poof were hanging out. We five were the only ones left in our sack.
“Guys, you won’t believe this!” I exclaimed.
“What?” asked my twin.
“Some new marshmallows have entered the pantry!”
“Well, that’s new,” remarked Poof.
It certainly was. We haven’t been eaten yet, so why would the Humans buy more marshmallows? However, I was glad because those new marshmallows wouldn’t last two days!
When dusk fell, Poof had the idea to give the new folks a goody bag to welcome them to the pantry before they got eaten. Unfortunately, the Humans are as greedy as hogs (whatever those are) so there wasn’t much food left. I did find a package of half-eaten Junior Mints, which would be acceptable enough.
I walked over to the yellow marshmallow box and rapped on the plastic covering. A yellow bunny-shaped marshmallow popped out through a huge hole in the plastic. It was just as I suspected: the Humans had devoured all the Peeps marshmallows except for that final one.
“Don’t eat me!” the marshmallow squealed.
“I’m not going to eat you! I do have some snacks for you. Sorry about the horrible Humans eating your people,” I apologized, and pushed the mints over to the yellow marshmallow. “By the way, I’m Marshimus.”
“Peep,” Peep said. “Thanks for the snacks.” Something stirred.
“What was that?” asked Peep.
“Cheez Doodles. They want to wreak havoc on all the Cheetos, so they’ve started scheming at night,” I explained, and hopped over to my bag.
The next morning, all the Humans were alert.
“John! Get the bug repellent, will you?”
“OK, Mom!”
“Timothy, do you have the flashlights?”
“Yes!”
I knew from previous experience that the Humans were going on a camping trip. I gulped as the woman shoved the Jet-Puffed bag and the Peeps box into her beat-up purple backpack.
All the Humans were excited about the trip.
“I love camping!” yelled John, age nine.
“Shut up John; I’m trying to read my comic book,” grumbled twelve-year-old Timothy.
Everyone was enthusiastic about this, except us marshmallows. All marshmallows hate camping because we are first stabbed, then burned alive, then squished between chocolate and graham crackers before being devoured.
Peep looked confused when he saw me praying to Malla, the god of marshmallows.
“What’s going on?” he asked, so I had to explain the whole marshmallow death ritual. After I told the grisly rite to him, Peep’s eyes were as wide as Frisbees.
That afternoon, my family, plus Peep, awaited the execution with dread in our stomachs.
“I am scared,” Peep said.
“I know. I wish we could escape,” I replied.
“Then let’s do that,” Grandpa piped up.
“But we can’t. We could get rained on or stepped on if we tried to leave,” Poof pointed out.
“Well, it’s better than doing nothing.” Grandpa had a point.
“OK, then. Let’s move!” I yelled, and we all set out to escape.
After hopping for around five minutes, we came to a road. A gust of wind blew us across the street to safety.
“We’re safe,” I said, relieved.
“Hey! Wait!” yelled a voice from across the road. Poor Grandpa didn’t get caught by the breeze.
“Run, Grandpa, run!” we cried as he hopped across the road. We were so sure that he would make it when…
SQUISH!!!!!
An SUV ran Grandpa over.
“Grandpa got run over by an SUV!” Mallow shrieked. What happened then was worse. A raccoon ran onto the street and started licking Grandpa’s remains.
Weary, tired, and traumatized, we decided to give up the escape and suffer at the campfire. Just as we approached the tent, a voice said, “Hey! You!” We turned around and came face to face with another marshmallow dressed in camouflage.
“Good evening, sirs and ma’am, I’m Mitchell, the head of the M.S.U., or Marshmallow Saving Unit. We take care of marshmallows in peril by providing them with a safe shelter, far from the Humans. Care to join me?”
We all stepped forward except Grandma.
“Grandma, come on,” Mallow said.
“Kids, I think I’d rather suffer at the fire than live without poor Max. Good luck, and good bye,” she said sadly. We tried to get her back, but Grandma had her mind made up.
The headquarters for the M.S.U. is a tree fort, where scores of marshmallows live. We now can live peacefully, and I’ve made lots of friends. I’m very lucky to have survived that ordeal with my brothers and my friend, Peep.
Diary of a Helpless Marshmallow
My adventures at the campsite
By Minnie Marshio (and TV)
November 9, 2011
Time: 830 p.m.
After many months of sanctuary, the Fat Free tribe of Safeway Marshmallows has been opened. It’s every marshmallow’s worst fear. Opening can only mean one thing- getting eaten. And not just that! You get stabbed, burned alive (sometimes set on fire), and THEN eaten! Here’s what happened.
Nothing we could do would save us from the campfire. The second we were placed on a table, a bunch of giant hands reached in and started grabbing marshmallows left and right. I hopped to the back of the bag, where I was sure no grimy hands would touch me. I saw my dentist, the garbage man, and Ms. Crushy, my math teacher (thank goodness) all get swooped up and devoured. I saw Max; a juvenile delinquent from our school, cheer the second Ms. Crushy was grabbed. I rolled my eyes. But then, he realized that a hand was reaching for him. Quickly he jumped away at the last second and ran over to my hiding place. Unfortunately, standing behind him was Goosh, Mayor Marshy’s son. He screamed as he was picked up by a particularly dirty human hand.
“Max! Did you know that he was behind you?” I asked, “You could get executed!”
“No, I swear! I would have stayed if I knew it was him!” he protested. Just then, Mrs. Flop, my favorite neighbor, walked by.
“What’s all the trouble, kids? I mean besides the fact that humans are killing us off by the dozens,” she said, somewhat cheerfully.
“It’s Max!” I blurted, before he could stop me, “he jumped away from a hand and Goosh, who was behind him, was eaten!”
Mrs. Flop looked at us with surprise. Then she ran. Most likely, to Mayor Marshy.
“Minnie!” Max hissed.
“Sorry!” I whispered, “I don’t know what came over me!”
November 9, 2011
Time: 1100 p.m.
The humans sealed us up the second the hands stopped grabbing. Being sealed means that you’re safe, but they could reach in and eat you at any time. You have to be alert. But even a seal couldn’t stop us from escaping our bag. And that’s what we did.
Since the dawn of marshmallowness, there has been a set of 7 laws and 9 consequences called the Code of the Bag. The sixth consequence states that if anyone disobeys the fifth law (don’t murder another marshmallow) gets sentenced to the death penalty. The death penalty includes a trial. You get skewered and placed over a fire. You are tested for a crime and if you are guilty, you die. Painfully. You are held so close to the fire that you start to melt. After a few minutes, you slide off the stick and into the flames. It’s a horror to experience and to watch.
Max was held above the fire pit. The executioner, with his sharpie-on hood, had carefully lit the campfire and was now asking Max some questions.
“Did you know that Goosh was behind you when you were escaping?” he asked
“No! I swear on my grandma’s mushy remains!” yelled Max.
“Which grandma?”
“THE DEAD ONE!!!” he cried.
“Alright, you’re guilty!”
“WHAT??? WHAT PROOF DO YOU HAVE???”
“I dunno. I just want to execute someone.”
“THAT’S RIDICULOUS!!!”
There were collected murmurs from the crowd. Maybe Max would be titled innocent. I hoped for the best. Anything but the worst.
But then the worst happened.
I didn’t know if it was the smell of marshmallows, the fire, or something else, but we managed to attract a family of raccoons! They rampaged throughout the campsite, devouring any marshmallow that stood in their way.
The executioner screamed and dropped the stick holding Max. Max rolled over on his side, barely escaping the fire.
“I’m free!” he cheered. But then a raccoon ate him. I ran as fast as a little marshmallow could. Thankfully, the humans woke up and saw the marshmallows scattered everywhere and scared the animals off.
November 10, 2011
Time: 905 a.m.
This is the end of the Fat Free tribe. After the raccoons had been chased away, the human parents decided to throw the rest of us away. There weren’t many marshmallows left. First, there was me and Mrs. Flop. Next was the Mayor, his other son KC (stands for KrushCrush), and his daughter Smoosh (she and Goosh were twins). We may be only five puny marshmallows, but I think that we’ll survive to see the next generation. I’m in love with KC. I just hope I can break the news before it’s too late.
We climbed out of the trash can. It was a calm morning, but not for us. Looking across the street, we could see an open pack of marshmallows sitting on a picnic table. A yellow marshmallow shaped like a duck was yelling at us.
“Hello! I am Pooky! I run the Easter Time tribe of Foodland marshmallows! You are welcome to join our tribe! If you could just cross the street, you’ll be safe!”
We looked out at the road in front of us. It may have been only five feet, but it looked like five miles. I was the first one to cross. I made it to the other side safely; and started beckoning for the others. KC and Smoosh went, followed by the Mayor and Mrs. Flop. I saw a large van come barreling towards them.
“Look out!” I yelled. I looked away as I heard a nasty SQUISH.
“Don’t worry, Minnie, it was just some gum!” said KC. I breathed a sigh of relief. As they made their way to where I was, I heard Pooky yell, “Wait! Don’t come any closer!”
“What???” I realized that a garbage man was about to pick up their bag.
“Never mind!” Pooky said as he and his tribe was taken away. We watched as his bag was taken to the same trash can we had just left. What irony. But we managed to cross the road again to climb back into the trash can.
Now we live happily with the Easter Time tribe. Even after we were sent to a land fill, we managed to live forever after. I ended up marrying KC and we have two marshmallow kids named Max, after the Max who was eaten, and M&M, which stands for Mushy-Mashie. I wrote this journal to show the future generations what happened to the Fat Free tribe, my old home.
