'It happened about five years ago, when Thanksgiving was no longer about being thankful. Instead it was only about fear. The fear of being next. The fear of being eaten alive by another human being, if they could even be called that.
"National Cannibal Gluttony Day" is what they're calling this atrocity. Somehow, the Cannibals's leader managed to corrupt the government and poison the mind of our President. They legally changed Thanksgiving into NCGD. Of course, the rest of America wasn't okay with that decision, but everyone knows that the voice of the general people doesn't actually matter.
Everyone who publicly fought the idea was taken away and never heard of again, unless of course a specific person was particularly delicious and the one responsible for their demise decided to brag about it.
After about a year, all of the protests died down (literally) and everyone tried to just accept the fact that the wonderful holiday of Thanksgiving was now hell on earth.
"These truly are dark times for America, but you gotta keep your faith. And never lose hope" my mother would say. That was before she was chosen two years ago, my dad followed the next year. I had lost my hope and faith long before then anyways.
Since I was an only child and both of my guardians were chosen, I was automatically put in an orphanage and was already on the list for next year.
That was a year ago, and Thanksgiving is today.
They've been feeding me a lot more lately, most likely trying to fatten me up for tomorrow's feast. I made sure to eat as little as possible.
They're probably going to take me away now, so I'll wrap this up quickly. I don't think there's much else for me to say other than America has all gone to hell, and the other countries are next. So if you have somehow found a way to be off the grid, STAY off the grid, and never come back.
He quickly put his pencil down and stood up, the only thing he had to leave behind clutched tightly in his hand. He stood up on the small cot they had given him to sleep on for the last year and reached his arm through the bars on the window.
"Goodbye, " he whispered as he let the paper fly through the air, hoping it would be made useful somehow. Hoping that his life wasn't wasted.
A knock was heard on the door just as he was sitting back down and two men clad in white stepped into the dingy prison cell he called his bedroom.
No words were spoken, he just stood up and started making his way to the door, the two men waiting silently. When he hesitated at the exit for a second, one of the men put an arm behind him, wordlessly urging him forward.
He looked behind him, at the window, and at the sky for the last time as he wondered what he could've done better.
After about a second he smiled wryly and left the room without notice, never to be seen or heard of again.
