Short Story – Lyrics, Sentiments and Me

The cold seeped through the cracks of their tiny shelter, a weathered tent pitched in a corner of the city where few dared to venture. Inside, Henry and Maria held their three children close, each wrapped in layers of donated blankets. Henry had been laid off months ago, and his part-time airport job barely covered necessities. Maria worked long hours at a fast-food chain for minimum wage, but between the two of them, it was never enough. They relied on welfare and food banks to scrape by, and Christmas this year was no different—just another reminder of their struggles.

The kids, resilient and hopeful, spent their days at school, determined to rise above their circumstances. Tonight, though, as Christmas Eve approached, they had no tree, no presents, and no feast. Henry kissed their foreheads before heading out for his night shift at the airport, a twelve-hour stretch that paid little but promised a few extra dollars to keep them afloat.

A Life-Changing Discovery

It was near midnight when Henry noticed the lone baggage, a sleek black suitcase abandoned near the terminal’s waiting area. His instincts told him to walk away—he had seen enough movies to know unclaimed luggage could spell trouble. But something compelled him to pick it up and carry it to security.

“Someone’s going to need this back,” Henry told the officer on duty, brushing off any thoughts of opening it.

Hours later, just as he was finishing his shift, he was called back to the terminal. A man in an expensive suit stood by the security desk, holding the suitcase. His eyes lit up as soon as he saw Henry.

“You’re the one who found this?” the man asked, extending his hand.

“Yes, sir. I just did what anyone would do,” Henry replied humbly.

The man chuckled, shaking his head. “Not everyone would. Look, this suitcase means life to me—important documents, contracts, things I can’t replace. You’ve saved me from serious trouble.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick envelope. “I’d like to give you this as a token of my gratitude.”

Henry stepped back, hands raised. “Sir, I was just doing my job. I can’t take that.”

The man studied him for a moment, then said, “Okay. How about this: Come work for me. Full-time. You’ve got integrity, and I need people like you.”

Henry’s throat tightened, his vision blurring. “A full-time job? You mean it?”

“Absolutely,” the man said, pressing the envelope into Henry’s hand anyway. “And take this for tonight. Call it a Christmas bonus.”

A Christmas to Remember

When Henry returned to the tent, his family huddled together, trying to stay warm. “Maria,” he whispered, shaking her gently awake. “Wake up. I’ve got news.”

Maria stirred, rubbing her tired eyes. “What is it, Henry?”

With a wide grin, he held up the envelope. “This man I met at work gave me some money. And… he offered me a full-time job.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she embraced him. “A full-time job? Henry, are you serious?”

“I am,” he said, his voice trembling. “And with this money, we can finally get out of here. We can find a little apartment. But tonight… let’s celebrate.”

Minutes later, the family was walking into McDonald’s, the neon lights casting a warm glow on their faces. The kids dove into their meals with unrestrained joy, savoring every bite as if it were a feast fit for kings.

Henry reached across the table, taking Maria’s hand. “We’re going to be okay,” he said. “God’s been watching out for us.”

Maria wiped her tears with a napkin, smiling through her sobs. “Praise God. Isn’t He so good?”

Henry grinned, the weight of months of hardship lifting from his shoulders. “Pa para pa pa,” he said, his voice brimming with gratitude. “I’m lovin’ it.”

This Christmas, the meal may have been simple, but it was seasoned with hope and grace. And for the first time in a long while, the family felt the magic of Christmas—proof that even in the darkest moments, light finds a way.

It was the day before Thanksgiving, and Tom and Giblet, two plump turkeys, sat under the shade of a sprawling oak tree at the edge of the farm. They had overheard the farmer’s plans earlier that morning and were in the middle of an existential crisis.

“I don’t get it, Gib,” Tom said, pacing in circles. “How does a holiday about giving thanks end up with us in the oven? It’s a yearly genocide, and yet they call it gratitude!”

Giblet, reclining on a pile of leaves, shrugged. “Humans are weird like that. They celebrate by stuffing themselves full of food and then blaming the pumpkin pie for their bloated misery. But you know what’s really confusing? They call us the centerpiece of their joy. How is being roasted to a golden crisp joyful for us?”

Tom flapped his wings in exasperation. “Right?! And they say things like, ‘Let’s give thanks for our blessings’ while they’re basting us in butter! I bet no one thanks the turkey.”

“Not true,” Giblet said, smirking. “I heard a guy on TV last year say, ‘This turkey is the most tender I’ve ever had. Thank you, Tom.’ It’s probably the same Tom who was here before you.”

Tom gulped. “Well, that’s comforting. At least I’ll be remembered for my… moistness.”

The two turkeys sat in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of distant traffic and the clanging of pots in the farmhouse kitchen.

“You know,” Giblet mused, “what if humans didn’t eat turkey for Thanksgiving? What would they have instead? Tofu? Fish? Pizza?”

“Pizza?” Tom scoffed. “Imagine the chaos! Aunt Linda’s mad because Uncle Joe ordered anchovies. Cousins arguing over pineapple. No one’s giving thanks, Gib. Just civil war on a plate.”

“Exactly,” Giblet said, leaning in. “We turkeys bring people together. Think about it. Every American family strives to keep this tradition alive because we are on the menu. If it weren’t for us, Thanksgiving might just be another Wednesday.”

Tom frowned, then nodded slowly. “So, what you’re saying is… we’re like the glue that holds Thanksgiving together?”

“Precisely,” Giblet said with a smug grin. “Without us, they’d just be eating boring casseroles and arguing over football. We’re essential, Tom. Legends, even.”

Tom sighed and flopped down beside his friend. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess being roasted for the greater good isn’t the worst fate.”

“Exactly!” Giblet said, puffing up his feathers. “If humanity needs us to keep their families united, who are we to stand in the way?”

As the sun set over the farm, the two turkeys shared a moment of quiet reflection.

“You know, Gib,” Tom said, a small smile tugging at his beak, “I hope whoever eats me tomorrow goes for seconds.”

“Atta boy,” Giblet said, patting him on the wing. “Let’s make humanity thankful, one bite at a time.”

And with that, the turkeys resigned themselves to their fate—not with fear, but with a sense of purpose. After all, they weren’t just birds—they were Thanksgiving heroes.