Good morning and Happy Thanksgiving everyone! 🙂
One of the things I’m thankful for are my readers and friends I’ve made as a writer. To help celebrate, I wanted to share a flash fiction story I wrote for a local writer’s club. The challenge was to write a story in Second Person POV, so that helped make it memorable. Hope you all enjoy it! 🙂
Turkey Time By CP Bialois
Rubbing the back of your neck, you enter the kitchen with a yawn.
“Love you, too, hun.” Your wife smiles back as she answers you, causing you to smile in return.
“It’s my special way of telling you. So, what’s for breakfast?”
“Something you cook yourself?” she replies as she hurries about the kitchen. Her apron is covered in flour and other spots that look familiar.
“Gee, thanks a million, babe.” You swat at her, but she sidesteps while not missing a step as she moves from one task to another.
She pauses to smile at you before asking, “So, where’d you put the turkey?”
“The turkey?” The question bounces around in your head for a few seconds, but you can’t figure out what she means.
“Yeah,” she says, putting a hand on her hip. “You know, the turkey you were supposed to pick up at the store.”
“The store?” You try to swallow the lump that suddenly forms in your throat.
“You did get a turkey, didn’t you?”
You open your mouth to respond, but you can’t look at her after forgetting her birthday the previous week. Your eyes drift to the window and your neighbor’s pet turkey next door. The only thing separating you from not sleeping on the couch is a twelve inch high chicken wire fence.
You lift your hands to fend off any potential blows. “Now, babe, I’ve got things under control. I left it over at the Jacobsons’ so it wouldn’t get in your way.”
Her eyes narrow, and after a couple of seconds she nods and smiles. “Okay, just be quick about it, would you? I’ve got to get it cooking if you want to eat this afternoon.”
You smile as relief falls from your shoulders. “No problem, babe. Just let me get my pants on and I’ll go get it.”
A few minutes later, you’re making your way across the yard to where you see the Jacobsons’ pet turkey, all nice a plump, standing by the chicken wire watching you.
“That’s right, Gobbler. I’m a friend. You can trust me.” As you draw closer, you pull out the hatchet you’re hiding behind your back. As you reach out for Gobbler, you hear the Jacobsons’ door open and close. Turning, you toss the hatchet behind the bush next to the chicken wire and turn to say, “Morning, Frank. How’s it going?”
Frank Jacobson nods at you and smiles. “Good, you?”
“Not bad. You all ready for Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Yup. Just gotta take ole Gobbler behind the shed and dress him.”
“You’re… what? I thought he was your pet?”
Frank paused to look at you with disbelief in his eyes. “He is, but I’d rather have him on our table than yours. Tell the missus I said hello.”
You watch him as he calls Gobbler over, then smiles at you over his shoulder. You’re about to give up when you hear a clucking and have an idea. Your only regret is the hell the wife will give that store clerk for giving you a chicken instead of a turkey.