The Colonial

A Turkey’s Last Words

Sage Fusco

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     It seems that today, with my great fortune of luck, is my day. Please, take me away! Really, you’re doing me a great favor, actually! It’s not as if I have family back there or anything. Just load me on to your truck and take me away. Do it, really. It was a horribly terrible place to be anyway, locked up in a gate with all those cackling lunatics. Take me by my feathers, pluck em’ for all I care! It’s totally great that I’m your chosen one, I really feel so special with all the love and admiration, that is. I mean yeah, I guess I have to die for it, but what else better could I have done? Nothing! So like I said, please, and I mean please with all my heart, take me away. Load me on to your truck and drive me to the slaughterhouse. Let them pluck and torture me for your humor, what do I care? Once again, I find myself saying NOTHING!

     So here I surrender. Rub my corpse with seasoning, stuff me with your fattening cuisine, and shove me in that oven of yours. Oh, don’t forget to turn it way up high—maybe I’ll at least be tanned on my deathbed. Give me a few garnishes too! I tell you it would truly, full-heartedly make me so, so happy to at least look good after I’ve been plucked, decapitated and emasculated. Now the other favor I just have to ask, because I don’t think I could bear it if I didn’t, can you put me on a pretty platter, please? Pretty super-duper, cotton candy and lollipops and rainbows and unicorns, please? It would make me the happiest dead turkey alive…. Wait, let me rephrase that… it would make me the happiest dead turkey dead. Yup! That’s it! That’s all my parting wishes, the rest is in my will. My daughter is to receive 50% of my nothing, and my wife the other 50%. Other than that, I think I’m ready to die. So here, let me just say my last goodbyes and I’ll gladly be ready to go, just so you can sit around a table and be thankful for the people you see every day. It’s not like you could have said “thank you” to them when you see them every other day of the year.

     It really makes more sense to just not show them you care until the last Thursday of November. Wait for over half the year to pass, and then, right as the years coming to a close, kill me or one of my fellow turkeys and instead of giving us a funeral or anything, have a party. It’s a great idea, really. It’ such a festive event, you may even forget I’m sitting there, on your table, just chilling, dead. And it’s not just me up there, all the other food is there with me. And see, now is where I may just have to say something a little serious. This, actually, happens to be a major complaint of mine. What is up with the fact that, despite me being your main event, you forget to eat me sometimes? You know if I were still alive, it would kill me to see it happen. Kill a turkey, make him sit at the table the whole time, and then shove him in a plastic bag, and then into the fridge. It’s great, isn’t it? Well, like I said let me just say my last thank you, and I’ll be on my way to the slaughterhouse.

     So, here it is. Thanks, humans! I would just like to make it seen that you are the reason I’m dying today. You and your very, very cruel ways. I mean you could’ve just been grateful, or, even better than that, if you weren’t going to be thankful all year, you should’ve stayed consistent and spared me. If you guys plan on being unappreciative 364 out 365 days of the year, why don’t you just make it a perfect one to one ratio? Just a question. No big deal, I guess I’ll just see you at the table! Look for me! I’ll be the one right in the center, shiny knife sitting next to me, thousands of side dishes surrounding me, and a huge group of humans sitting around me. Well, I’ll just see you there!

                   Lots of love,                        

Your Dinner              

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About the Writer
Sage Fusco, Staff Writer

Sage is a sophomore in the Computer Science Academy at the Boro. She participates in the Drama Club, Marching Band, Concert Band, and the American Computer...

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A Turkey’s Last Words