Pez
And all the PEZ dispensers came to life. Their mouths gasped open and — with a forceful “Urp!” — they each vomited a piece of candy. And fell over.
Lying there, they couldn’t turn their heads. They couldn’t right themselves. All they could do was open and close their mouths, vomiting candy, their plastic bodies twitching on the ground, on the concrete, on the linoleum. Too soon, they were empty. The Tweety Birds and Darth Vaders, the Kermit the Frogs and Batgirls, the Garfields and Woodstocks, all of them. Their mouths opened and closed, silently, like wet fish on a tile floor. They moved in slow, scraping circles around their massive craniums, eventually tapping the candies outside their personal radius.
As night fell, the scraping continued. Then stopped.
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