In the late evening of the Moon Festival, a colorful box sat at the back of a small shop in Chinatown. On the box was a picture of a cartoon lion’s head with a boy inside. Next to it, a lion mooncake sat on a small porcelain plate.
A child’s footsteps sounded atop the creaking floorboards of the narrow aisle.
“I get the last one. It’s mine!” a tiny voice whispered.
“No fair. We should share.”
“They’re my favorite. So delicious.”
“I said, It’s mine!”
A small hand snatched the mooncake. Placing it in her mouth, she smiled. Confusion transformed into horror when the mooncake wriggled in her mouth. Her muffled scream was silenced as it bit into her tongue.
The other lion mooncakes peeked out from under the lid. “Save some for us,” their tiny voices pleaded.
They jealously watched as the girl’s body deflated. Its contents sucked through her mouth. Like air sucked from a balloon. As the last of her blonde hair disappeared into the lion’s mouth, the mooncake dropped onto the plate.
On the box, the boy inside the lion changed to a girl with blonde hair.
The mooncake chuckled. “They never read the warning label.”
