I Will Take Revenge On The Annual Famine Memorial Extravaganza Committee.

I think I hear somebody crying. Yes. And they are.

It’s the petting zoo that gets me. A petting zoo at the Annual Famine Memorial Extravaganza. I didn’t expect shepherds. Or indeed a gerenuk. Just one gerenuk. Ripped from it’s family in Africa. Now at the height of it’s life in Sligo. I am standing up. My forehead is itchy. I fetch for my finger to scratch it. But I poke myself in the eye by mistake. This confirms my atheism and I sit down.

There are a lot of people here. Some of them are even human. People in hats. People with jewellery. Outdoor people. And almost everyone else. It’s a big thing. An entire field and an onion dome filled with bishops and crisps. It would be thrilling if you like that sort of thing. But the reason I’m here is because I have an Annual Famine Memorial Extravaganza raffle ticket. I could be the proud owner of several frozen turkeys. It doesn’t indicate how many turkeys and this excites me. Or a bottle of wine that cost less than the actual raffle ticket. I got my ticket for free. My friendless postman was moving to Venezuela. He gave me my ticket and said it was for the Famine Survivors Fund. I have no guilty conscience about not contributing to the Famine Survivors Fund because they have survived this long without me. They have risen to the top of modern society. The Famine Survivors keep our buses running on time. The Famine Survivors set their clocks back five minutes so they are never late for important engagements . The Famine Survivors are politicians, chefs and bankers. The Famine Survivors have more than I do! And now they want more money? I will devour the turkeys with a grin and sweet potatoes. Red potatoes. Long potatoes. Death potatoes. Bitter potatoes of my unheeded youth. Half consumed. I want that wine. My ticket is as good as any. I will rise to the top and collect my several turkeys complements of the Famine Survivors Fund free raffle ticket. I will laugh at the scrimmage of my opponents.

Still there is crying. Somewhere. I can hear. I can smell it. The stench of tears. The famine is not exactly hilarious therefore the Annual Famine Memorial Extravaganza general public is touchy about loud noises. You will not find a jester there. Possibly a magician. An afternoon of ball and cup seems likely. But it’s more of a gerenuk affair. A picnic shindig. However, no laughter. No smirks allowed.

My ticket has the texture of leopard skin. But it’s not. It’s just leather fur. My ticket is a magician in itself. It will grant me my wish of several turkeys. My ticket has class so I just sit there, waiting for victory.

It is dark and the stars are better when they are rural. I belong in the space of that particular sky. The universe is truly beautiful when there is the possibility of complementary turkeys. My nerves are jerking. The microphone rings out. A man with more beard than head calls it out and it is not my number. A family from Laois are laughing. They are smug in their shirts. All four of them in matching scarves. A set up. It’s a conspiracy. The dream of free turkey is gone. For now and forever. Not even wine.

My ticket is empty and the distant crying persists. I have nothing to lose and my shoes are brand new. I want to see the face of this disaster. In the dark, barely visible, I make my way toward the source. As I venture further the public peels away in the distance like burnt skin. I am seeing with my fingers in the dark. My eyes are adjusting to the noise. Further. Nothing but the whine of my destination. I can see it. Them. Two screech owls conversing on a branch. Just a chatter the entire time. I sit close and they walk slowly away. They do not look back at me. Was it really them?

My ticket feels heavy in my hand. The Famine Survivors have cheated me out of my winnings. They have manipulated me out of a fair chance and bribed me with a gerenuk. I will attend blast furnace conventions. Learn several Tibetan slang phrases. Hold my breath for long periods of time underwater and study the mechanics of rationing. And all of this because one day, I will take my revenge on The Annual Famine Memorial Extravaganza Committee.