High Excursionists. It's me Narri. I wanted to take a minute to let you know that I'm going to be launching my own website. This will be a place for all of my excursionists to keep up with my current and future projects. The site is counting down to going live, and there is a place to sign up to become
a story in my library. Library members will receive special perks that will be announced later, but the important part is that when you sign up for early access, you will be a member for free for the foreseeable future. Once the site goes live, the early access period will end, and after that there will be a small membership fee required. I look forward to seeing each and every one of you over at Narynarrates dot com so that you can join me on all of my upcoming adventures. Welcome to
Endo the Night. I'm Narri, your guide on today's excursion down a twisted path. Be careful not to get lost. Be it dark or light, it's easy to lose your way. Are you ready, then let's begin food for thought. When I was a child, I remember my grandfather telling me stories of how the world was when he was a younger man. It sounded like a fantasy to me, and I sometimes had to catch myself from laughing aloud when
he told me some of his tales. I was pretty sure he exaggerated much of the time, but I was grateful to still have my grandfather, and it made him happy to talk about the past, so I indulged him. Still, I wonder if they were true.
Asher. I'm going to tell you about the time that your grandmother first invited me to her family's Thanksgiving dinner. I was nervous as all get out, but I kept my knees from knocking too loudly and made it to her parents' house at twelve o'clock sharp, just like I was told to do. Her mother, bless her soul, was warm and friendly. Her father and brothers not so much. They weren't sure what to think of this hay seed Adelaide had attached herself to at college. Looking back, I
can't blame them. I was a tall, gangly hic just off the farm in my first semester of college, and I wasn't exactly as smooth or Debonnair. I was one part bluetick Hound and the other part Faulkner. At that time, it was a battle to decide which side would win. Well, there I stood staring at a house full of people I didn't know, with them staring back at me, and I thought I might bolt or pass out. Then Adelaide came from the kitchen and gave me that sweet smile
of hers. I knew in that instant I'd better get to know all these people, because Adelaide was going to be in my life forever. She introduced me all around, and pretty soon we were talking and laughing. It was already one of the best days of my life. Then her mother announced that dinner was served Ashure. So much food sat on that long table that there was barely room for our dinner plates and glasses. Two huge turkeys, a hamp green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, stuffing, candied yams, gravy,
homemade cranberry sauce with oranges in it. I ate until I wasn't sure I could move, so did everyone at the table. A good time was had by all, as the saying goes. Her mother then smiled sweetly and said, I hope everyone has left room for dessert. A communal groan spread around the room. Maybe after we've had a little time to watch some football, and some of this food is digested. You're the best baker around, Deer, so you know, I just won't pass up your pumpkin pie.
Just give us a bit. Her husband rubbed his swollen stomach. She laughed.
I had a feeling that's what you were going to say. If anyone decides they do want more of the dinner, there's plenty left. The desserts were nothing to scoff at. Once we'd watched the game on television, we decided the dessert sounded pretty good. My eyes flew open at the site. Sweets and baked goods of all kinds covered the same long table the dinner was served on. I think I ate more that day than I've ever eaten in my
entire life. I was used to a lot of food, but this was a dream come true for a young man who was squeaking by at college. Adelaide and I attended her parents' Thanksgiving feast every year during college and afterward. We married as soon as we graduated, and it didn't matter where work took me or where we lived. Thanksgiving was spent with her folks, and that family provided me with wonderful memories. I looked at my grandfather, wide eyed.
Is that true? Was there really all that food? He gave me that sweet smile of his and said, yes, Azure, it's true. Families everywhere ate like that on Thanksgiving, slack jawed. I stared in disbelief.
Do you have any other stories you can tell me, Grandpa? He reached for his pipe, tapped it to remove the old tobacco, filled it, and then lit a match. He took a few puffs and continued with his tails. When I was working on my graduate studies, few of my professors took a liking or at least pity on me. Adelaide and I were scraping by on not much. I worked as a teaching assistant at the university, but the pay was a dismal. She had a teaching job, but
that barely paid anything at all. We managed to get by, but that was all we were doing, getting by. My professors and their wives took us in at least once a week. We ate at one of the three professors homes. It was a grand multicultural adventure. One wife was German and she loved to cook authentic dishes from home. The same with another wife who was from the Philippines. The third wife was from the Deep South here in America, and she fixed the best fried chicken and collared greens
to be found. They weren't skimpy on the portions, and they always insisted that we take leftovers with us, like a king and a queen. Thanks to them, I kept in touch with every one of them until they eventually died years later. They were good people. Adelaide and the wives swapped recipes too, so they learned how to make homemade cranberry sauce just like my mother in law made it, and Adelaide knew how to cook the international dishes we loved.
My mouth water is every time I think of his stories, I wonder what those foods were like from Germany and the Philippines. What did Southern fried chicken taste like. I shouldn't torture myself thinking of these things. It's not the way the world works, at least not the world as it is today. I'm so hungry, but I agonize over going to the food pantry. I've seen what it's done to people. I'm afraid my choice is to die of
starvation or die of vegetable, albeit a fat one. There's no escaping that we are all dying one way or another. I just want to say, still be me when I do. The hunger is gnawing at me day and night, though, and my brothers and sisters tell me I need to stop dying on the sword of conviction. They say I should go ahead and just eat. I remember the stories Grandpa told me, and that seems like a completely different world than we live in today. How could there have
been so much plenty? How could people all on their own have access to so much food without strings attached? How could they have enough to share with friends and neighbors. Why do I have to be the one making a choice that will be a loser either way. I have been to the food pantry before it was awful. We could choose anything they had available, but each item came with a sticker that had a number on it that
was the price for having that item to eat. An apple was five, a block of cheese was fifteen, a piece of meat was fifty. The amount of food chosen was only dependent upon what the person was willing to sacrifice. I've been to the food pantry and allowed myself to be stolen. I can tell something is missing in me Grandpa once told me never go shopping on an empty stomach, because you'll want everything in the store. I was starving,
and I tried to choose inexpensive food. I didn't want to end up devoid of what makes me who I am. I put more food into my cart than I intended, and I ate it far too quickly. I know there's no escape. I cried at the food pantry. Once my cart of food was scanned and bagged, they led me to a room in the back. A chair, not unlike the electric chairs they used in prisons for executions, sat with wires coming out of a control box. They strapped
me in and placed a helmet over my head. My jolt was painful, and I could feel my thoughts being drained from my mind. Five thoughts for the apple, fifteen for the block of cheese, and so on. I wept. I've been to the pantry five times in the last two months. I've tried to ration the food as best I can, but it's been a week since I ate anything. I've struggled watching others indulging in the food with no care.
In the world.
I resent the people who are perfectly content to allow the government to take their thoughts.
I don't care as long as my belly is full. Who needs useless thoughts?
Anyway? Some people have told me they don't care that the government is making sure they have complete control of us. I swear they orchestrated the famine just so they could subjugate the masses today. Right now, as I speak, I'm afraid I'm giving into the temptation. What good are my thoughts when I'm dead? What good are independent thoughts if the government is going to win in the end? Anyway, I'm sorry, Grandpa, I know you would have wanted me
to resist. I can't take the starvation any longer, and maybe part of me thinks life would be much easier if I didn't have to think. The government will make all the decisions anyway. So here I am at the door of the food pantry. I think it's time I go on a shopping spree. Before long, life will seem easy. I won't have to make any decisions again.
Thank you for joining me for this episode of the Into the Night Anthology podcast. Written by Caroline Giamanco, narrated by Nari Quak, the music by Nico Rodriguez. All other original music, sound design, and editing by Omenhawk Studios. You can find our links in the show notes. Into the Night is on your favorite podcatcher, so make sure to like, subscribe, and leave a five star review to help other excursionists
to join us. I'll see you next time, and remember, whether in the shadows or in the daylight, all twisted paths lead you into the night. Into the Night Anthology is a creative typo entertainment production