squawk squawk

“Squawk, squawk, squawk, squawk.”

High pitched. Indignant. Loud.

It flapped its wings and ran around in circles. It’s feet were light and spry. There were three toes on one and two on another. The ground was littered with yellow sprinkles of feed. It ran in circles. Squawking loudly.

The others began to squawk from their cages. Cramped as they were, all had turned their heads, sometimes in impossibly contorted positions, their bodies stable and motionless, unable to move, both because of the tight space, and because they were too fat now to move on such small appendages for legs. But their eyes were on the running chicken.

Watching intently.

To see what would happen next.

Squawk, squawk, squawk.

It ran around dizzyingly in circles.

Thud, thud, thud. Footsteps. The flatter of metal. A loud groan of annoyance. A rake falling to the ground.

The sun was nice and mellow today. The sky was bright. The wind blew a calm melody. The scrape banged against a wall as it was roughed back to a standing position.

Footsteps. The ground began to shake. Anticipation in the air. Electricity cackling in the still sky.

The chicken continued running circles, unperturbed.

The smell of chicken shit and feathers. The taste of captivity in close quarters ran through the air. You could feel the dust and feed particles in the air. They were blunt, a little rough. And everywhere.

The footsteps came every closer.

The chicken continued to make loud, obnoxious noises. It’s brethren kept their eyes on it. It continued to run in a perfect circle. Over and over. Again and again.

Thud thud thud. The footsteps were upon it. With a squeak, it began to run in zig zag lines. It was fast and spry for its size. Its chaser was old with knobby knees and rickety joints. The chickens tracked them.

The sun began to set. The sky was now colored a beautiful orange and red. Some shards of yellow. The dusk light was beginning to shine upon the earth, which basked in its cool glow.

The trees and the hills for miles around were swaying in the gentle breeze, ever so softly. The squawking was the only thing that punctured this serene silence. It was also the only spectacle that was past and paced. Everything else, well, everything else was much slower. Calm. Life here, life here was slow and relaxed. Time to breathe. To take in the sights. To see all around. It was nice.

Squawking and the pounding of boots on the earth. Not too loud. But the animals felt them. The ground absorbed most of the shock anyways. The day bled into night. The chicken was starting to slow. The slow chaser was beginning to huff and to pant. They were going around in zig zag lines and in circles. All in line of the coop from whence the chickens were still staring. Unblinking avian eyes. The chicken finally panted, tongue out and stopped. The chaser did too. With a mighty groan, the body of the old man fell over, and right on the chicken. Neither would move again.