333 — No Thanks

Peach and Blossom, the 2024 national turkeys, sat on Death Row in the White House basement. The official Presidential priest, Father Francis, entered.

"Well, ladies, I guess you know it's time."

"We know, Father," Peach said somberly.

"Yes," added Blossom. "Let's get it over with."

"Good," the priest began. "Lord, we're thankful for—"

"Stop!" interrupted Peach. "Are you kidding?"

"W-well," the priest stammered, "it's all written down here. Steeped in tradition..."

"Tradition!" cackled Peach.

"Tradition?" howled Blossom.

"Father," Peach said sarcastically, "do you prefer to bless the white meat or the dark meet?"

"Ladies, let's not make this about race." The birds laughed louder.

Suddenly, an agent burst into the door. "Thank God! I was afraid I was too late."

"What, officer?" the priest asked.

"There's been a Presidential pardon."

"Oh, that's a surprise," the priest whispered under his breath.

"Yes," the agent said, "President Biden has graciously pardoned, um..." he shuffled through papers. "...Peach, here, and..."

Blossom perked up in anticipation.

"Hmm, it looks like it's just Peach. Very odd."

"Maybe he forgot Blossom," the priest offered.

"No," the agent said, "Don't see Blossom anywhere. Just Peach."

"Can't you call him?" asked Blossom. "It's a matter of life and death."

"I can't just call up the President," the officer told her.

"But it really is a matter of life and death."

Just then another agent entered with more papers. Blossom perked up again.

"Hmm," he reported, "I guess you get only so many pardons to hand out." He looked through his papers again. "It appears," he continued, "he used his other one to pardon Donald Trump."

An audible gasp escaped the mouths of everyone.

"I don't understand," Blossom said, betrayed.

"It's obvious," said the first agent. "He wanted to upstage the President-elect—pardon him before he could pardon himself."

"He was gonna pardon himself anyway, for Christ's sake!" shouted Blossom.

"Politics," the priest explained. "Its a human thing. Turkeys wouldn't understand." He took a long, sad look at Blossom. "Are you ready?"

"It's my wattle, isn't it? We all can't have as good a wattle as Peach, can we!" Somewhere in Mar-a-Lago, the President-elect was examining his own wattle in the mirror.

In politics, wattles matter.

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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

For Thanksgiving, Thursday, November 28, Day 333 of the 2024 Story-a-Day Challenge.

366 WORDS (without A/N)

33 DAYS TO GO! THE STORIES KEEP COMING ON IN THIS VOCAL CHALLENGE, 366 GOBBLES A DAY.

There are currently three Vocal writers in this 2024 Story-a-Day Challenge:

• L.C. (Candied Yams) Schäfer

• Rachel (Dressing) Deeming

• Gerard (Steak for me, please) DiLeo