Writing challenge
Answer to ghibli_chibi
Title:"Tried and True"
Word: "method"
Chickens are stupid animals.
We had quite a few of them at home, and I had stopped naming them. I used to, but they never lasted long enough to respond to their names. Or maybe they were too stupid to really care. My mom had let me get attached to them, she thought it a valuable lesson to learn. How to say good bye quickly and efficiently, and eventually not to need to say good bye anymore. Mom always knew best.
She taught me, eventually, the easiest method to kill chickens. No need for knives or machetes. No need for anything but gravity and a firm hand.
I walked out to the pen, the chickens didn’t run nearly at all. They were used to me. I ran the steps in my head, it should be easy. I picked up a fat hen who hadn’t laid eggs in a few weeks, she was older and didn’t resist at all. She clucked contentedly as I cupped her body in my left arm. I decided to walk away from the pen, I didn’t want the other chickens to see. Seemed like a decent thing to do.
I grabbed her head with my right hand and let her hang from it. Then I gave it a firm twirl. The chicken’s body rolled in the air, while her head was still firmly held in my hand. The sound startled me. I dropped her unceremoniously while still holding a fist full of feathers. Her neck stood at an odd angle and her exposed skin turned a terrible purple of broken vessels and bones. She kicked her legs spasmodically, then stood wobbly. She staggered without much direction and then tried to peck at the ground. I watched as her head flopped unsupported and useless. Transfixed, I watched on until I heard the screen door slam.
At a brisk pace, my mom came. I heard her, but did not raise my eyes to see. I stared at the ground as my mother cut off the chicken’s neck with a big kitchen knife. Quick and efficient. She dropped the head by my feet.
Title:"Tried and True"
Word: "method"
Chickens are stupid animals.
We had quite a few of them at home, and I had stopped naming them. I used to, but they never lasted long enough to respond to their names. Or maybe they were too stupid to really care. My mom had let me get attached to them, she thought it a valuable lesson to learn. How to say good bye quickly and efficiently, and eventually not to need to say good bye anymore. Mom always knew best.
She taught me, eventually, the easiest method to kill chickens. No need for knives or machetes. No need for anything but gravity and a firm hand.
I walked out to the pen, the chickens didn’t run nearly at all. They were used to me. I ran the steps in my head, it should be easy. I picked up a fat hen who hadn’t laid eggs in a few weeks, she was older and didn’t resist at all. She clucked contentedly as I cupped her body in my left arm. I decided to walk away from the pen, I didn’t want the other chickens to see. Seemed like a decent thing to do.
I grabbed her head with my right hand and let her hang from it. Then I gave it a firm twirl. The chicken’s body rolled in the air, while her head was still firmly held in my hand. The sound startled me. I dropped her unceremoniously while still holding a fist full of feathers. Her neck stood at an odd angle and her exposed skin turned a terrible purple of broken vessels and bones. She kicked her legs spasmodically, then stood wobbly. She staggered without much direction and then tried to peck at the ground. I watched as her head flopped unsupported and useless. Transfixed, I watched on until I heard the screen door slam.
At a brisk pace, my mom came. I heard her, but did not raise my eyes to see. I stared at the ground as my mother cut off the chicken’s neck with a big kitchen knife. Quick and efficient. She dropped the head by my feet.