Alone

Turk sighed a deep gobbling sigh. Everyone had disappeared without him again. He was used to being picked last for baseball and being picked on for never being able to gain weight. While everyone puffed up and strutted around displaying their weighty stature he tended to linger in the back of the crowd.

Every year Farmer Joe rounds up all the turkeys and he gets left behind. His mom would tell him "Gobble gobble cluck cluck." It made him feel better to know his mom loved him and thought he was special even though, well he WAS special. He wished she was here to cluck those words to him again but even she had been picked and left the farm what felt like a long time ago.

Turk walked alone in the dark, cold autumn night. He kicked a pebble and a chill breeze gave him turkeybumps and made his feathers stiff. The weather was as uninviting as the desolate shed he returned too. Once a bustling metropolis of turkey brethren had been diminished to population one. Him. Him alone.
As he huddled in the corner and drifted to sleep, one thought repeated in his mind as a broken record.

That must be some baseball game.

Happy Thanksgiving!

(With this reminder: Even if you're feeling glum this holiday, at least you aren't a turkey. A delicious, delicious turkey.)