A Thanksgiving Pardon

The apocalypse was swift. Tears flowed like wine and the sirens could barely be heard over the screaming. Children were ripped from their mothers and placed on a metallic slide that dropped them into either a holding cell, which pumped their innards with lard until The Pecking commenced, or into a raging fire that sauteed their supple flesh with butter and garlic. There was no day or month or year to mark it, for all time had stopped. Perdition had unfurled. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!