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April 14, 2022 By ajfservices999-1970 0
Questionador – M.Zerillo
Those in Question -A.J.Blackley
How would a friendship develop between yourself and your pet turkey develop if you were both living in a broken tank on the borders of Zaire for 8 months under the canopy of a Baobab orchard just out of sight of the enemy? You should touch on potential sticking points in the friendship, the good times, and your eventual escape.

Firstly I would like to place myself and my feathered dinosaur descendant friend with an ill educated reference to “Africa’s First World War” beteen1996 and 1997, mostly fought within the old State of Zaire just after the removal of the much loved, by some, Zairean president Mobutu Sese Seko and his inept and corrupt regime.
The Baobab orchard consists of 41.5 glorious barrel shaped Baobab trees, of which 40 of them reach a staggering 75ft towards the constantly blue sky, with barrel trunks up to16ft wide with magical astringent properties of it bark and fruit.
My feathered friend, descendant of theatrically feared dinosaurs is an Oscillated Turkey from Mexico, more specifically the Yukatán Peninsular.
The Broken African Tank is a 1600L UE of fantastical proportions. Of African origin and very popular within the content for nearly 5 years. Made of rugged, unbreakable premium design with 100% virgin material, strong, robust and thankfully naturally UV and heat resistant.
Baobab is the name of a fruit from the Adansonia genus of trees. It’s found inside hard pods that hang upside-down from the trees. Baobab is usually consumed as a powder made from the harvested fruit that is dried and ground with a pleasant, citrus flavour.
I would like to think the relationship between myself, Daddy Foote, and the Oscillated Turkey, the bird, would be strained to start out as Daddy Foote and the Bird would have to get used to each others irritating habits and procliverties such as Daddy Footes prolific and crude observation of the birds ravishingly coloured wobbly bits and the bird gobbling and shitting all over the top of the sloping floor of the tank.
This high end tank, although mostly whole had a hole at the high end where rain had clearly entered to collect at the low end of the sloping floor. Considered to be reasonably clean, and upon waiting to see if the bird died after drinking it, Daddy Foote considers this collection of water to be potable and enough to last a couple of weeks under the monotonously blue sky.
After a few days of getting to know the bird Daddy Foote would realise that the baking heat evaporated his and the birds water source faster than imagined leading to Daddy Foote drinking the lot within only 2 days before it evaporated completely as it’s “better in the belly.” A phrase that would transform into a mantra as all sense of time and space dissolved with the forthcoming hallucination brought on be dehydration, starvation and subsequent detachment from the real world and understanding of sensory input.
Daddy foote and the bird had water but no food for the first few day. Trying not to think of the a time the last of the water would be gone Daddy Foote would share his knowled of the world, confirmed throughanicdotal evidence of his life lessons. The bird would be content to listen. Sitting down between gobbling and shitting the bird became close to Daddy Foote believing him to be part of the birds flock. Snuggling up to him the bird would gobble quietly, giving Daddy Foote a warm feeling inside that was somewhat different to the blistering heat his body felt due to the solar gains from the African sun hanging in the persistently blue bastard sky.
The first night would be better than the day for both as the sun sets and the temperature of the tank plummets to almost less than boiling point. Drinking water wouldn’t help as through the day it would become tainted through the constantly shitting bird.
After Daddy Footes normal dreams of whittling wood to make a 4 trap to catch small wildlife and running from zombies and ex wives, he awakes to an awful, brain smashing noise. Confusing and thirst propagates confusion and finally the realisation that the bastard bird was no friend of Daddy Foote.
Day 2 would get harder with hunger and concern for escape playing on the Bastard birds mind. Daddy Foote would know this while untill the end of day 3, starting to hate the bastard bird with every gobble it gave, foot scratch on the floor or peck at its own fecal matter and every shit it dropped into the fecal infested water.
On the morn of day 3 With the last mouthful Daddy Foote drank of that toxic liquid that one was thought to be his saviour, his mind would become clear and understanding found as distance gunfire and voices of the enemy became clearer.
Day 3s Delirium would get worse for Daddy Foote as the bastard spy of a bird preened itself, gobbled with pleasure and shat on Daddy Footes fever and heat stroke induced quivering body laying in the shit of the Bastard Spy traitor bird…
Another 2 days Daddy Foote would lay there while the fucking bastard spy traitor bird fell in love with the prone form of the other half of his flock of 2 as rain heavily fell from the black sky of light and thunder. Rain falling through the hole in the high end of the broken tank to wet the flesh and feathers of its occupants, to collect in the low end of the slopping floor.
Day 7 and Daddy Footes increased his hatred of the fucking morning silence destroying bastard spy traitor bird and awareness of the enemy increased as the now very close artillary spooked the feathered twat. Muffled voices of the enemy would increase. After “the incident” the enemy would regularly shout abuse and try to force him to do inhumane things, and force Daddy Foote to agree to the enemies derogatory description of his demeanor, fashion sense and dysfunction and unsavoury proclivities. He would have to do as they say. And he did for a further 7 weeks untill a moment of lucidity would descend on Daddy Foote.
Day 49. At dawn, Daddy Foote becomes aware of the silence. No voices. No artillery. No gobbling. As he savoured the quite he raised himself off the cool shit infested floor as a realisation that bones where on the floor next to the other thing. He recognised them from day 7 when “The incident” happened.
On day 7 there was no fresh water, but fresh liquid was in the tank. Daddy foot helped the bird gently into his arms as he seductively slid his knowing hands up its boy to grasp its head in one hand and base of its neck in the other while his teeth sank into the lightly feathered, almost smooth flesh of the fucking morning silence destroying bastard spy traitor twat of a shitting bird. Ripping flesh from the victims neck Daddy Foote would suck hungrily it the wet open wound to feast the life fluids out of the veins and flesh of his salvation. As the life giving liquid subsides the hunger for more would infect his mind as he starts to rip the feathers and flesh from the creatures bone. Ripping it open to access it’s innards because feasting on its shit filled intestines while it’s pathetic shit covered, scratchy feet still twitched there last twitch was all that mattered.
Looking now at those bones he noticed the floor they lay upon. The floor wasn’t cool when he awoke, it just wasn’t hot or even warm. In fact the absence of be sense of hot or cold. He felt nothing. Could feel the weight of his body through his feet touching the floor. Couldn’t feel the texture of his clothes on his flesh. Could feel his tongue in his moth as it moved exploring the roof of his mouth, lips and teeth. He could feel his breath!
The bones. The floor. The other thing…
Clothes like rags. Bare feet of pale, dry skin. A stain on the floor around the thing where juices from rotting flesh had leaked out of the the thing to the floor of the tank.and dried black.
Grey hair, empty sockets where eyes should be. Taught mumifide flesh on a face unrecognisable to loved ones.
Exposed teeth of a mouth forced open by handfuls of suffocating feathers.
The sense of raising off the ground. Above the horror. Above the Broken African tank as he noticed it’s design and construction from green recycled plastic belonged to a company, Africa Tanks was established in 2017 in Cullinan, Gauteng. They made vertical water tanks for the residential, commercial and agriculture markets 20 years after Daddy Foote and his bird started there. Bonded in a strange way then “The incident.”
Floating higher above his plastic home of the last 7 weeks there would be more questions than answers. Is this heaven. Is this hell. Where are the enemy… Floating feeling the presence of his Oscillated Turkey as they finally escape the realms of this earthly plain…