• Welcome, friend we haven't met yet, to our slice of roleplay paradise.
    Feel free to look around, browse a bit. To join the community, register now!

Thanksgiving's Tasty Turkey

Robyn

The Phoenix
Staff member
Welcome to the rules, guidelines, and information thread for the Thanksgiving Tasty Turkey event. If you manage to break these rules, the same consequences apply as they would anywhere else.

Unlike other prompts though, there is more than 1 way to enter this one! Read on to find out what's up with this particular prompt~

General Rules
  • All regular SCRP rules apply.
  • Your entries may be rated M. Use common sense and courtesy; spoiler and rate pieces rated M.
  • Everybody may participate as long as they're a member on this site.
  • Feel free to interpret the prompt however you want.
  • Don't use ready-to-go/pre-made pieces, even if they fit the prompt.
  • Edit your piece as you please (before the deadline).
  • Deadline for this event is December 5th

Prompt Rules

Writing a (short) story
  • There are unlimited entries per prompt, but they require a minimum of 150 words.
  • To get the badge, you must write at least 250 words
Writing a (short) poem
  • There are unlimited entries per prompt, but they require a minimum of 1 stanza
  • To get the badge, but they require a minimum of two (two) stanzas
Creating visual art
  • Follow the theme
  • Must contain a turkey
  • Experimental and mixed techniques are allowed.

Badges!

  • You may enter more than 1 piece, but only one (1) may count towards the badge.
  • It must be posted before the deadline.
  • Editing is allowed. Edits made before the deadline will count towards the badge.

If you have any questions, feel free contact a staff member~


ONTO the prompt

You are a very smart and special turkey.
You can both understand English and write.
Write a letter to Americans to convince them NOT to eat turkey for Thanksgiving.
 
Last edited:

ms.morbid

The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
"I told you it wasn't going to do anything. Five years. Down the drain."

You open your eyes to see a man. Two actually, but the first one was the one who was talking and laughing as he gathered up his things.

“Talking Turkeys,” he shook his head, placing his paperwork into a manila folder and putting it with several other folders that he slid into a bag, “You owe me fifty bucks. And a whole report because dude this has been a waste of time.”

The second man didn’t say anything, even as the first ruffled his hair and walked out of the small white room. There were tiles, and the bars in front of you were definitely metal. It felt like home. It felt like a place that you have been in for the last three years because, well, this is where you’ve been pecking up little grains of food and swallowing them down. This has been where you’ve slept, pissed, and gobbled when something frightened you.

The term “turkey” doesn’t quite click, but who cared? You were hungry, and the soft gobbles that you were making weren’t getting the attention of the man.

The man looked tired, and as he sat down in front of the cage that you were in he shook his head slowly and picked up his bottle of water. “Five years,” he murmured to himself, looking at you through the thick lenses on his face. He was disappointed, probably. Who wouldn’t be disappointed if they had just wasted so much time on nothing. You didn’t feel all that bad for him, tipping your head to the side as you gave another gobble. Your feathers ruffle as you shift and move in your cage to get the man’s attention.

He looked at you for a few moments before taking out the bag of feed and pouring you a bowl. Oh that good, good feed. Delicious. Filling. Good. You dive into that food the moment it’s in your grasp. He laughed softly at your antics, pulling on his coat and turning off the computers in the room. “Maybe next year, yeah?” he sighed, “At least you didn’t die. All the other ones were..” The spark in the man’s eyes weren’t put out yet.

“Not as strong. Probably.” he brought over a blanket and tossed it over the cage, “You’ve done a lot Fido. I’ll see you Monday. Be nice to the weekend cleaning crew this time. One more nip and you’re going to wind up on a table. Stuffed.” He laughed, taking the time to refill the bowl of water and sliding it back into the cage. “Happy Thanksgiving.” With that he flopped the last part of the blanket over the cage and you were engulfed in darkness. You heard the door open, the light switch turn off, and the door closed.

You munched away at your food for a maximum of twenty minutes, after that a crippling boredom fell over you- something that you had never experienced before. You tried grooming, walking in circles, and at the end of it you somehow pulled a piece of paper into the cage with you. It was crumpled, full of scratches at your beak and claws did nothing to preserve it’s integrity, but you got it.

You played with shapes, with lines. You mimicked some of the things you had seen for those brief moments before the curtains were drawn. Words. Numbers. You don’t quite connect the dots, there isn’t someone to tell you that there is a connection between what you think and what you’re scratching. But. It satisfied you through the weekend. When you became tired you thought about how the man would react, and how you thought that he’d be happy- that some scratches on pieces of paper would be something that he was waiting for.
 
Top