Flash Fiction... The Fortunate Chicken

Sarah Tirri
December 7, 2019

The fortunate chicken was comfortable and dry, and her eggs were safe. She rested proud. The fortunate chicken spent several years pecking at grain, dust-bathing, and nest-building, repeating her daily activities under the care of the compassionate human.

The unfortunate chicken had no choice but to submit to the demands of the callous human. She ended up in a restaurant that proudly announced the Monday Night Special: ALL YOU CAN EAT WINGS.

Before the executioner killed the fortunate chicken, he lifted her off her eggs and hummed a lullaby. A sermon of gratitude was delivered as he smoothed her feathers. He hated the next part but he had bills to pay. The executioner was able to end the bird's life painlessly and her heart stopped beating within a few seconds. She felt nothing. She was a fortunate chicken in a world of unfortunates.

The unfortunate chicken never strutted proudly and there were billions just like her. She lived her life caged on sloping wire. Her feet hurt. She couldn’t move and her bones were brittle, her muscles were weak with dystrophy. Her prolapsed kidneys hurt. Her beak was cut off. Everything hurt. She was force-fed and survived for a year with her screeching brethren amidst no sun, no rain, no air, and no reprieve - but she gained weight, and this made her executioner happy. Her death hurt. The executioner held her upside-down for so long.

The wings of the fortunate chicken were coated with spices and thrown into the fryer along with those belonging to the endless unfortunates.

As they ate and rubbed their bellies, the diners discarded the bones on a communal plate, crisscrossing them artfully before ordering another batch. During the interim, most traipsed into the restroom and sat on the toilet to make room for more. After all, it was ALL YOU CAN EAT NIGHT and the night was still young.

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