Her family had never thought much of the holiday, except when father was feeling particularly American.
Often Mr and Mrs Stamp hadn't even come home in November, for what little time Eloise had out of school; she'd spent all of that time running wild instead, though of course when the time came she always wandered back into the lab, predictable and quiet.
Truthfully, she didn't understand what there was to be especially thankful for on any given day. Most of her life Eloise had managed to be grateful for the things that were decent -- even the things that weren't. It wasn't her place to pick and choose, though sometimes a girl couldn't help it.
This Thanksgiving she sat at a table by herself, staring out of a high window. Everything looked ruined, destroyed -- dead. No better or worse. She lit a cigarette and put her headphones in.