November 1, 2013

Today begins Phase I of Operation: Free Bird. I must give them no reason to form suspicions.  The other bird-brained fools antagonize our captors, but I’ve learned to play the part.  So for now, I wait patiently.  This isn’t extremely difficult because my social graces are nothing special.  The food here isn’t too bad—a little grainy, sure, but nothing to peck up about. I don’t wander near the fences when they let us out.  I act like I’ve given up, because it is the best way to hide the fact that I haven’t.

November 16, 2013

I introduced Phase II of Operation: Free Bird.  I carefully review the precautions and make the necessary adjustments as T-Day nears. The captors have been feeding us more, which I’d enjoy if I didn’t know what was next. Boy, that ruffles my feathers.  I cannot wait to make my escape. The others here have begun to agitate me; it’s not just the fowl language, but they’re so dumb that I swear if they were left out in the rain they’d drown because they wouldn’t know how to close their own mouths. How am I supposed to soar with the eagles when I’m hanging with the turkeys?

November 24, 2013

Unexpectedly, Phase III has come to realization.  The captors have chosen this morning for “processing” and “finalization” of the “product.” Yikes. I’d rather be sleeping, couped up where it’s warm, but you know what they say—the early bird gets the worm. All that’s left is the execution. When they open the cages I will follow the others out.  The trucks are just outside the doors, and as soon as I reach them I’ll duck around the corner and hide.  It’s that easy.  There are so many of us that they don’t even notice me slip away.  I’ll finally be free. Gobble Gobble, mutha cluckas.

November 28, 2013

Phase IV: Erm, untitled.  I didn’t have complete confidence in my ability to escape but now that I’ve done it I’m a little shocked.  I know my end goal is to stop this whole ridiculous system, so I figure my first step should be to do a little reconnaissance.  I follow a truck down the way and I spot him: an old college buddy, Tom.  A family takes him to a house filled with people, and I lose my field of vision for a few hours until they gather around a table.  And there he is.  They surround him, and seem to recite a ritual of sorts in which they each say a few words.  It appears that in this captor’s society we are revered as gods of gratitude. I catch a couple phrases, like “I’m thankful for…” and “I’m glad I have…” which has left me wondering why they believe they need a meal to say these grateful words when they could say them any time of the year.

Well, trusty diary, another successful year. Hopefully I won’t write again until C-day nears; by then I will have prepared Operation: Fly Hard.

Until next time,

Turkey Out