Quentin - rough draft

When he was just 4 years old, Quentin here got himself a spiffy spider mask to wear for Hallowe'en. He loved it so, and it earned him a heaping bag of candy. So, when the next year rolled by, he wore it again, and once more received a bag full to bursting. And year after year, Qentin wore that same mask, again and again, and again, until finally it became his own face. And year after year, he slowly got less and less candy. And now, here he is, waiting for a bus somewhere, clutching a paper bag containing the last, few, precious dregs of his candy. Candy he can't even eat, for now his mouthparts are only capable of ingesting the fluids of insects and the occasional toad or small bird, animals which Quentin has little ability to catch.

And so he sits, and clutches his candy, and remembers bags overflowing with taffies and lollipops and rockets and jubes. He can no longer smile at the memories, or cry over the days long gone. But he remembers. And he sits. And he clutches.

And perhaps eats the occasional toad. Or small bird.