Starved

Quick authors note: Hey guys! After battling it out with myself, I decided to post some of my school essays. I am doing this for two reasons. One- you have a right to know what stories got me "noticed" (I not sure if noticed is a good word to explain it). Two- I need to buy some time because I am working really hard on my first chapter of my first "novel"(it's a lot of firsts okay). So that is my reasoning. Enjoy my turkey story(the one that I mentioned in my first post). It is short, mainly because I had to turn it in on time!! *sigh*

                                        Starved

I followed the current of the mob of fellow turkeys. Grim beaks stretched across the room, making me frown as well. There was nothing to smile about, nothing at all, as we will lose so many very soon. Our feet leave prints in the dirt, as my community braced themselves for the worst. We all had no hope that our leader, Rusted Beak to pull us all through the tragedy, as we shouldn’t. He would fail like so many before him. I half-heartedly spread out my feathers to honor his appearance. He too, had melancholy lines under his eyes, stressed out with the task he must try to accomplish. After he perched himself on higher ground, he opened his beak, and we waited for sound to come out.

“Hello everyone,” he began his lecture,”as you all know,” his gobble quivered uncontrollably, he cleared his throat, “in a few days, we will face Thanksgiving. Yes, the day were we turkeys get eaten, and get no thank you for it...may I add. I have been thinking about why they choose us to eat, and I have found the answer, it is because we are so fat. They want our fatty flesh in their bellies, and I have decided that we must now maintain a diet that will make us skinny and unappealing to their eyes. They won’t want to eat us, and we will live!” his tone grew proud of his plan. The room became silent.  “So, you are asking us to starve ourselves?” A turkey blurted out, breaking the silence with a crack. 

Rusted Beak sharpened himself with seriousness. “If that’s they way you want to see it.”

A gasp scarcely left my beak. No one would go along with that! I won’t! Will I? My feathers ruffled up, as my brain tossed and turned on what to do. I finally went with my instinct, and I go with Rusted Beaks plan. A few others waddled toward where he stood. We all nodded, but said nothing. Then we all huddled into a room, and let the starving begin.

It was brutal. Every minute someone would groan just to mask the sound of the storm inside our stomachs. I couldn’t lift a feather as I hugged the ground. I may have even licked the dirt a little.

“So,what’s your name?” a voice croaked, then coughed up something, and all I know is that it wasn’t food.

It takes a while for me to respond, “Autumn Feathers,” I managed.

“Mines Rosy Winged,” her voice died down and ended the conversation there, too weakened to talk any longer.

Once, we painfully watched a group scuff down food right in front of us. Clearly they did not like Rusted Beak’s plan. When they finished, they had a line of crumbs around the circumference of their beaks. I force my eyes closed, and sleep. My nightmare was not any better. Food concaved onto me, choking me in it’s wave. It chanted EAT ME! I scream over and over. That’s when the fire started. My feathers crumbled to ashes, and I smelt burnt skin. More screams found their way through the peep holes of the food pile.

“AUTUMN FEATHERS!” I felt a wing shake me awake. 
“Today's!” I go into panic mode.

“Yes, today is Thanksgiving,” Rusted Beak let out a sigh.

We all scrambled to our feet, and our sluggish bodies dragged themselves out of the room. We waited. A thud echoed through the ground. Then another. My senses grew alert and stern, but I wasn’t quick enough. A hand swept me up by my feet, and left my bony structure to dangle in the air.

“This ones too skinny,” a man yelled in gibberish.

The hand lost grip of me and I fell back toward the ground. It actually worked! I sprinted to a corner, where I saw how unfortunate those who ate were. If I had the gut, I would help them, but I don’t. That means they are their food now. All of them were swung over backs, and they got smaller as they were taken away into the distance...never to be seen again. That left me with ached stomach, I needed food now. The others were already indulged in food, plumped by all the fat it contained. I sprung into the pile, and choked down more than I could handle, but at that point I really didn't care.

“Those who ate,Will end on their plate,Those who starve,Will again be large,As they will not eat,If they can feel the bones in your feet.” Rusty Beak said it loud and clear.

This was a reminder. Thanksgiving will no longer be feared as he said this time after time. Generations after generations. We lost no one ever again.