Disclaimer: I don’t own Pokemon. I don’t own Misty Waterflower, or Ash Ketchum. I don’t own Thanksgiving. I do own the plot of this story though, so no bugging me.
She sat with her hands in her lap, staring up at her mother. She had long, dark hair with gentle waves flowing through it. She was wearing a pair of tan capris and a pink tank top. Her father walked through the room. She looked away from her mother just long enough to see him pass, then her eyes jumped back to the woman standing at the counter. It was a sort of island counter, just floating in the middle of the kitchen. It had the sink, dishwasher, stove, and some cabinets on it. Her mother stopped stirring corn starch into the gravy, long enough to ask,
“Do I have something on my face?”
“No.” she replied.
“Then what, what on earth, could be so strange that you have to stare me down like that?” She wiped her hands on a towel and put a hand up to her hair, making sure it was brushed. She ran her finger through it. It was just like it always was-- An eye hurting shade of orange and only as long as her shoulders-- why was this bugging her daughter? She picked up the fork and began to continue mixing.
“Mom,” The girl asked, “Why do we celebrate Thanksgiving by killing turkeys?”
Misty was overcome by a giggle. Why did people kill turkeys mainly on Thanksgiving. It was a big turkey-massacre- holiday, wasn’t it? “Well,” She said, trying to think up something quickly, “Because if they didn’t kill turkeys, wouldn’t chickens go extinct faster?”
“Yeah, but why Turkey?”
“Sylvie, sweetie, what do you mean?” Misty asked, “We aren’t going to eat quail are we?” She moved the bowl of starch to the pan of turkey juice, then started to whisk it in. The turkey was in the oven, but no one had to know the gravy was coming from a pan, did they? ^^
“No, but how many turkeys have to die?” Sylvie asked, then added, “No one kills us and eats us!”
“Yet,” Misty said. “But someday hoot-hoots are going to rule the world, then we’ll have something to worry about.” She smiled at her daughter’s wide eyed look. It was enough for her. “Plus,” She added, “Who’s complaining! It’s not every day your mother slaves over a kitchen. You don’t get to see your relatives all that often either, and they also bring some of your favorite food. What’s wrong with eating?”
“Nothing.” She looked annoyed. “What’s wrong with pork?”
Ash walked in and stole a can of soda from the fridge. “Nothing’s wrong with pork if you like to eat ham all year. I mean, I kinda prefer turkey...”
“I just,” She looked at her mother, who was now mixing up some contents of a packet into Jell-O. “I don’t want to see all the turkeys in the world die.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.” Ash said as he walked off. “Most of the world buys fake turkey now.”
“Clones aren’t fake, I just find them weird.” Misty said. She looked again at the powder in her hands. “Sylvie, there just aren’t that many logical reasons why we have turkey. It’s just tradition. Why don’t you go help your father work on pokemon battle stuff?”
“No,” Sylvie said, “I think I’ll just watch you.” She slumped into her chair.
“Why?” Misty asked, “Sweetie, the turkey is already dead here, there’s not much to do!” She put the Jell-O mix in the fridge to set up.
“I know.” Sylvie said. “I’m just thinking.”
“Now what?” Misty moaned. “About hotdogs?”
“No,” Sylvie replied, “About why we kill Pine Trees.”
“Don’t make me hurt you,” Ash said, “Christmas is my favorite holiday.”
“No, but why-?” The doorbell rang.
“I GOT IT!” Misty yelled, running for the door. She opened it to see Brock, standing with two pumpkin pies in his hands.
“Hi Misty,” He said, “Where do you want these?”
“Just set them on the counter, but if Sylvie asks about why we kill pumpkins, tell her because we can.” Misty said. She pulled a ponytail holder off her wrist and placed it in her hair. “Oh, and, if you can, can you divert her attention off killing?”
“I could try.” Brock said, walking to the kitchen. Sylvie was sitting in her spot, chewing on a cookie. “Hey Sylvie,” He started, “Do you want to go to the movies for a while?”
“Okay.” She said. She sniffed at the air as she got up. “I love eating turkey, I’m glad they die. They do it for the betterment of all man kind.”
“Really?” Brock said, “I thought we just did it as an excuse. I mean, it used to be little girls.” He was joking, but wide did Sylvie’s eyes go.
“Brock,” She asked, “Why aren’t you married yet?”
“Um...” He looked saddened, “Because I haven’t tried yet.” He knew it to be a lie, but he also knew that she wouldn’t understand the truth.
“You could marry Nurse Joy!”
Brock fell over laughing, tears streaming down his face. Ash laughed to and said, “Joy to the world man.”
The moral of this story is, A white lie can’t hurt anyone but turkeys and Brocks. ^___________^