Ponder I, alone: “What brought me here?”
The wind says nothing.
“What force?” cry I.
“God?” I wait for any answer.
“Nothing, then,” ponder I, alone. No fate steered my course. I chose this path.
I turn away to family dinner. How I despise political turkey.
Andrew is an unpublished fiction writer in the Washington area. In his spare time he enjoys pens, pads, word processors and pudding.
“You chose,” he’d remind me later. “You could’ve gone home.”
“You needed help! Neither of you knew how to do it right!” I retorted.
“Well, is it almost done?” He’d asked thrice before.
Feet aching, sweat pouring down my face, I replied “Yes, the turkey will be finished by dinnertime.”
AJ Joseph occasionally writes at Words from Sonobe and tweets very short stories as @sonobeus.
My pumpkin pie sat on the table, untouched.
I’d followed the directions explicitly.
I properly preheated the oven.
I took great pains with the crust.
I’d anticipated delight, feigned or otherwise, once consumed. It was not meant to be.
“Bring a dessert,” they’d said.
Turns out everybody brought pumpkin pie.
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories, poetry, and the occasional song.
Millicent finished a bowl of hot soup and left the church cafeteria. She didn’t complain as she limped slowly toward the park. She knew she was luckier than others.
In the tunnel, she wrapped her blanket more tightly around her shoulders and gave thanks before drifting off to dreamless sleep.
Candace Kubinec wrote this story.
Yesterday I went hunting for wild turkey and met a bear. Big, brown, monstrous.
He lifted his head and snarled at me across a narrow stream too shallow to float a canoe.
He could have splashed across in two heartbeats. Fortunately he was already eating something on the other side.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble.” His first novel, “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel,” was recently rereleased. Visit BobThurber.net.
Margaret understood what was expected of her. She had been raised properly and was skilled in etiquette, poise, and all things ladylike and mature.
However, there was a certain satisfaction in watching the knife plunge repeatedly into the body of yet another lifeless, unappealing, and unsympathetic excuse for a turkey.
Hillary hopes you enjoy your holidays despite whatever sinister fantasy may surface.
Eric waited in line for a ticket guaranteeing a 32-inch television for only $99.
His family continued celebrating, all except his mother, forced to work. Black Friday was now Black Thanksgiving.
Tickets ran out three people ahead of him. Eric purchased a football, hoping E.J. would forgive him for leaving.
James W. Davidson, Jr. is double majoring in English and Philosophy at Winthrop University.
“Thank you all for joining us on this first annual Thanksgiving Day,” intoned Tyrone.
“Your hospitality has been wonderful!” said Brenda Brachiosaur.
“A splendid idea,” said Stewart Stegosaur. “Please do invite us back.”
“Actually,” said Tyrone, flashing his Tyrannosaurus teeth, “I expect we’ll be needing new guests next year.”
Happy Canadian Thanksgiving, everyone! (Americans: enjoy yours next month.)