an epic tale (still untitled)

The chicken was tense. From the tips of its weary wings to each of its six toes, every bone in its little body was rigid. But in its eyes, there raged a ferocity rarely seen, even in the eyes of men. Its heart beat with determination.1

What it was doing there that dismal morning, no one knew. It was standing on one side of the road, looking across, seemingly unaware of the world about it. No one knew where it had come from. No one knew where it was going. Most doubted that even it knew.2

But the chicken did know. It had a destination, and had traveled far for it, ever fearing for its life. Its feathers were ruffled and caked with mud, its cheek was scarred, and there was bubble gum stuck to its left foot. Behind it lay a long trail of confused farmers, wondering if they had imagined the unfamiliar chicken who'd spent a night in their coops, only to mysteriously make off at dawn. They had all seen the resolution in its stride.3

The chicken's journey had now led it here, to this man-made crossing full of man-made, flatulent, four-legged creatures that growled menacingly as they moved. The chicken did not know that it stood by the main road, and that it was a Saturday, the busiest day in that little town. But it did know that it needed to cross the street if it were to ever reach its aim. And so, bravely, it lifted one foot.4

A woman nearby saw that the foot was quivering. Being an animal-loved, she stepped forward, murmuring, "Poor thing, must be lost..."5

But the chicken gave her a piercing look. Stay away from me, said that look, I've been hurt enough by your kind. It was a look full of the cynicism and sorrow of experience.6

As the lady backed off, the chicken put its foot forward. A car charged by before it. The chicken lifted another foot.7

A girl's voice, delighted, rang out from behind, "Mum, look, a chicken!" Foot down. And another automobile clunked by the other way.8

The gray sky tore open then, ripped apart by a forked tongue of lightning, letting rip a blitz of raindrops that beat heavily on the chicken's head.9

Followed by another step.10

A car rushed by, splashing mud across its eyelids. And another.11

The chicken was halfway across the street when a storm of small stones began to shower around it. Distracted, it looked up and found its assailants, a gang of unruly boys. It glared. They snickered. Vehicles whipped violently by the chicken on either side.12

Dauntless, it carried on, one foot following the other. Again and again. Tiny, chicken steps.13

Suddenly a stone came hurtling, unchecked, lashing towards the chicken's scrawny ankle. Giving out a startled 'cluck!', it tripped. Fell. And lay sprawled on its chest on the ground. At that moment, a truck's horn blared ominously through the thick air - it's owner frantically pressing down on the brakes. Everyone's attention veered towards the road, and they looked on, frightful for the chicken's life. Helpless.14

A flash of muddy feathers and a skinny, slightly bloody bird ankle. And then they they saw the chicken, flying the remaining distance to the other side.15

It made it.16

The air erupted with sighs and cheers of tremendous comfort; some of the rock-throwers roared with relief. The truck driver stopped dead in his tracks, halting everyone else behind him. Everyone on either side of the road stared on incredulously.17

But to all this, of course, the chicken was unaware. It raised its head wearily and hauled itself up to steadiness. It ruffled its feathers and tested its injured leg. Due west, it looked out, for in that way, its destination lay. And it began to limp, slowly, purposefully, ferocity raging still in its eyes.18

Behind it, the townspeople stared, smiling confusedly at one another. In the air, there hung the one question bewildering all their minds: "Why did that chicken just cross the road?"