by Timothy Jung (6th)
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 27TH, 1963
Life is unfair sometimes. I’ve almost made it to the farm. But our problems aren’t done. As soon as we get there, the majority get hit by those “bullets”. It’s fatal. I wish something could’ve been done, but now we’re all panicking. I just manage to see Gravy, Stuffing, and Flappy, hiding behind a tree, safe. Clark’s right beside me, and the 2 of us try to get over to the trio, where we watch in horror as everyone’s hit. I should’ve been in that crowd. We were so close to the farm. Only 3 more miles and we would’ve been there. Now it’s only 5 turkeys left, and no more memorial stones.
Like I said, life is unfair sometimes. But now? I think “sometimes” is an understatement. We decided that taking time to grieve would only result in never getting to the farm. It’s too much for me to handle. Clark, with tears in his eyes, comes over, and I know what he’s going to ask.
“No,” I say.
He looks at me, eyes overflowing with tears now, sniffs, then says, “I don’t want to be like all the others. You need a name. I-I don’t want either of us to leave each other when I don’t even know your name.”
He’s interrupted by several cluckings in the air. We rush over to Gravy, Stuffing, and Flappy. Trapped from the outside world, they cluck in distress from inside the net. We hear rustling in the bushes. We quickly get behind a tree. When I take a glance, it’s a human. A monster. It takes the net, and puts it in it’s palm, carefully making sure that Flappy doesn’t peck him. Then he takes a step back. I turn to Clark.
“We need to do something.” I cluck quietly. The monster turns around, with a confused expression.
He turns to leave again, and Clark responds to me, “There’s nothing that we can do.” My heart sinks. It’s still beating though, which is more than Turkish Baron, the elders, Drillz, and Bigfoot have. But my heart’s beating faster than ever. As if from the beating of my heart, the human turns back toward the tree. He takes one step forward. The waiting is almost unbearable. Then he turns around, and leaves. Flappy’s voice echoes in my head.
“I thought America was safe.”
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 28TH, 2025: THANKSGIVING DAY
We walk. We walk forever. And in silence. And for good reason. When we finally get to the farm, we slip into the “barn”. There are about 20 turkeys in the building, and when we get inside, everyone stares, and it reminds me of when I was first at the boat. I wish times were always that easy. But it’s not that simple. Now everyone’s gone. I wanted to get out. That cost everyone’s life. Now I get another shot at surviving, and I’m not going to screw it up. I’m going to stay quiet, and wait for something.
When I get outside the barn, there are things in the distance. For one, the tallest tower I’ve ever seen. Also a big white building, and it looks important and fancy. I know I’m supposed to wait for something, but I wasn’t prepared for something Clark would say.
“Listen up!” he says with a booming voice. “Is anyone here named Tom?” Someone comes up to him.
“Do you mean Tom Gobble?” he asks. Clark nods. The turkey looks down. “They took him away just last week for what they call ‘Thanksgiving Dinner,” and apparently they needed turkeys. Today’s Thanksgiving, which means either a huge massacre arrives, or today’s the only day left for them to take us away.”
There’s silence for what seems like eternity. Then there are footsteps. My whole life, I’ve felt dread hearing footsteps, but these ones sound… less evil. It’s weird, after panicking over who leaves, I feel like it might be time for me to go to all the others who have left their lives. I’m not afraid anymore.
The human comes closer to me, and he looks like a very important and formal man. He comes closer to me.
He says to the people outside, “I think I’ll take this one.” Then the people take all the other turkeys, and I look at Clark, and already feel the dread coming. They take him away, and I never see him again.
But before I leave the barn in the hands of the formal man, I stoop down to take a pebble. I put it in my beak. I then go up to the formal man, not intimidated by his presence. He stoops low and picks me up. When we get into a so-called “car” to go to “Washington D.C.” I make one last note before we leave. I think in my head, Clark, I think. My name is the Last Turkey.
The end.