A Writing Prompt: Thanksgiving
Turkeys are innately scary
Okay, here’s the elevator pitch:
In a gesture of humane goodwill, the President pardons the turkey doomed to be eaten for Thanksgiving at the White House. This is despite this turkey having a long criminal record, most of which is supressed because the turkey is under age eighteen. Freed and without continuing substance-abuse treatment and counseling, the turkey commits a heinous crime. Think Ted Bundy crime. Richard Speck crime. The White House is attacked by political opposition as being soft on crime. The turkey is still at large and a nation lives in fear.
If you want, submit the story below. Keep it short. My favorite gets a box of goodies. Deadline in one week.
In regard to the Story Night contest, how about just voting with “likes”? That way everyone could vote. And it would be easy to see the scores tally as time passes. Would that work?
Thomas the Terrifying: A Turkey Tale
By Amethyst Hethcoat
“Thanksgiving is the grandest coverup in this nation’s young history. Good old-fashioned WASP propaganda sweeps mass genocide of indigenous people under the rug; the white man suppresses his sin with sweet potatoes, store-bought stuffing, and silly televised parades sponsored by the corporate machine. Families gather under the guise of gratitude, pretending to forget that European colonists returned natives’ hospitality with measles blankets and cultural erasure, giving way to generational alcoholism, poisoned water, and belittling red-skinned mascots. Decades later, only a handful of tobacco-scented, semen-stained casinos featuring has-been celebrities like Rick Springfield, endless cheesecake, and bottomless debt serve as reparations. Trail of Tears-soaked imperialism backed by the Church is repackaged as wholesome cultural exchange.
Fat bastards encircle smorgasbords feasting upon my turkey brethren, loudly performing monologues coined “prayers” to prove to estranged in-laws that they are the picture of nuclear perfection—meanwhile, tensions of Chernobyl proportions brew unchecked. These naked apes claim to feel “thankful,” “grateful,” and my favorite: “blessed.” What these crazed consumerists really mean is that they are superior, better, the best—titles earned through murder, rape, and domination. So it’s fitting that this day rooted in Native bloodshed is celebrated by the slaughter and stuffing of my majestic cousins. The world would be better if shallow supremacists would just serve each other instead.”
“Thomas, as a fellow turkey I understand that this day is triggering for you, as it is for all of us. We’ve all lost someone.” A cacophony of gobbles echoed through the meeting hall, the turkeys sitting in a circle, their wattles wobbling to and fro.
“My ma,” one bird said. “Pa,” another.
A mighty squawk erupted from Thomas’ beak, his feathers on edge.
“I’ve lost everyone. Mother, Father, my baby sister Lucy—her plumage yet to even form,” Thomas’ gizzard sloshed with years of suppressed tears. “I lost everyone to this cult of tradition and lies. In two weeks, I become eligible for the draft; then I too will be sacrificed to Uncle Sam’s quest for world-domination.”
“But Thomas,” Colonel Wobble interjected. “You are one of the lucky few. The President chose to pardon you this Thanksgiving. The White House opted for tofurkey from Sprouts this year instead. With your poult delinquency, many would have loved to see placed on a platter. You should feel—”
“Thankful?”
Silence slapped the entire space like Will Smith did Chris Rock at the Oscar’s—John Wayne’s fantasy for Sacheen Littlefeather when she rejected Marlon Brando’s Academy Award in 1973. Yet another burn on the face of American culture.
“That snowflake was only trying to win over the Vegans, Bernie Bros, and 3rd Wave Wiccans who think he’s too middle of the road. His action: nothing more than a cheap publicity stunt.”
“Bet he still has turkey bacon for breakfast,” said Rocky the runt.
“Yes. I am still destined for the battlefield, one plate swapped for another.”
“So what are you suggesting we do? Flap, peck, and gobble them into submission?” The Colonel rose to meet Thomas, beady eyes surrounding them both. “They have guns and Range Rovers. What do we have?”
“We have beaks and centuries of injustice to avenge, my friends. What’s the one thing weaker than us that all these Politicians, Pastors, and Protestants pretend to care about?”
“Fossil Fuels?” Rocky chimed in.
“Taylor Swift’s latest record?”
“That Costco never raises the price of its hotdog combo?”
“Babies?”
“That’s right,” Thomas said. “Babies.” The birds gasped for what is more sacred to the far-right than spreading their milky-white seed? “Next Thanksgiving, our oppressors are going to celebrate things a little bit differently…”
***
The following year Thomas and his cohorts from Turkey Rage Anonymous began abducting babies, pretending to be scouts for Gerber commercials and Balenciaga ads. It’s amazing what a good wig, padded Linked-In profile, and high-quality business cards can accomplish. Next Thanksgiving, Thomas and his friends manifested a holiday miracle that would make the Grinch’s reverse-Santa seem a pussy in comparison. Thomas and his comrades swapped as many Thanksgiving turkeys with roasted youngsters as possible, taking butterballs and leaving behind baked little Billy in their place. The big birds held a massive funeral for all their slain siblings while human families around America unknowingly began to feast upon the flesh of their little ones. The idiots only managed to connect the dots when Thomas leaked food-prep footage to Fox News. Needless to say when word got out around the globe, the USA became an even bigger pariah than before. Nukes launched in an international game of radioactive volleyball until everyone was charred in one, final giant cookout—a climax with which even James Cameron’s directorial prowess couldn’t compete.
In millions of years as evolution takes its course, only the mighty cockroach stands strong—man and turkey long forgotten.
© Amethyst Hethcoat 2022
Tony wasn't a bad egg. He started out as a fluffy little poult like anyone else, went through that awkward teenage jake phase, then blossomed into a gorgeous gobbler. He was devoted to his family, both human and fowl--until one unforgettable November day when his father was murdered before his very eyes. Young Tony could do nothing but watch in horror while his humans chopped off his pops' head, ripped out his feathers, tore out his guts, stuffed bread up his asshole, roasted his carcass, and feasted on his flesh. His mother was...oddly indifferent, actually. But Tony was devastated and vowed revenge. He turned to a life of petty crime, but nothing could quell his lust for vengeance. That is, until he hatched the perfect plan. He infiltrated the farm from which the President of the United States was known to choose the annual Thanksgiving turkey. Tony hoped the rumors were true: that this was a ruse and that the chosen turkey would be pardoned for any crimes committed.
It took a few Thanksgivings, but Tony was patient. He bided his time until the day came that he was the chosen bird. As luck would have it, the new President was down in the polls and needed a win. So the President decided to make an especially big show of the turkey pardon, performing the ceremony during halftime of the Thanksgiving Day college bowl game. Tony would have loved nothing more than to murder the President on live television, but sadly, his lack of opposable thumbs prevented anything so dramatic. But what Tony did have was a glorious wattle. And he was ready. He had spent the last three years learning hypnosis. When the day came for his on-screen pardon, Tony used his wattle to hypnotize the entire TV audience. That day, every American family who had been watching that bowl game slaughtered, disemboweled, basted, roasted, and feasted on the smallest child in their family. Including the President, whose plump little grandson made a charming and delicious centerpiece for the state dinner of dignitaries and assorted world leaders.
Thus began a new divide in the American political consciousness. Half the country was appalled and cried for the President's impeachment or worse. The other half rallied behind him, proclaiming that this was the most delicious Thanksgiving feast they had ever had. As for Tony, he met a lovely hen and went on to raise a delightful family of children and grandchildren. Every one of them trained in the art of hypnosis.