First-Person Animal Woes

Fourth Draft

A Fowl Existence

    Day 57: The heat is unbearable and I have way too many roommates. Think about your crowded college dorm room and add nine other humans. The logistics of living comfortably in this density are almost not worth discussing.
    Who moved my eggs? Am I certain this is the right nest? Are they going to open a damn window? These are just a few of the daily unanswered questions.
    My current shotgun wedding involves a female with a misshapen beak. When Farmer Jerkface locks us in the conjugal cage for two days, the only thing I can do is take a deep breath and fertilize some eggs. Maybe a little of that corn whiskey I see you sneaking around in your coveralls? After that harrowing ordeal I don't even get to meet my kids. The hairy, sweaty mammal swoops in and steals them before they hatch. I don't know what an "omelette" is but it sounds disgusting.
    Tempers flare in close quarters and I can't ignore how much my food tastes like the recently missing Carl from Cell Block D. I won't point any talons but I definitely wouldn't choose to be a cannibal. Drawing blood is simply the best way to maintain alpha status. I'm better than these losers. I need to escape.
    After each feeding the Farmer's kid gets high and leaves the hatch open. He thinks I don't notice. I scan the mess hall and Greg is winking at me. He must also see the potential. I wink back at him but he squawks angrily and turns his tail feathers. Now I remember: I pecked his eye out during yesterday's breakfast brawl. Sorry Greg, the order is clear. A solo mission is safer and it's almost game time.
    Our rations of crunchy friend-flavored nonsense are replenished. Greg pays me his protection food wages and I fuel up. After lunch the door is still ajar so I creep slowly towards freedom. The metal lock is open and I nudge the door. A raw squeal leaks out of the rusty metal. I freeze in place, terrified. Jerk Junior is busy coughing up a lung so he doesn’t hear anything. I coil back and explode down the ramp. Heyrchh cughm bahahack he spits out, but nothing can slow me down. The blinding sunlight energizes me and I rocket towards the farmhouse. Heavy, dusty footsteps follow me until I make it under the patio stairs and into the shade.
    Exhilarated and quivering with fear, I sneak to the opposite side of the house near the edge of the property. I bolt towards the tree line but I slam neck-first into the Farmer's rough hands. Well that failed miserably. He drags me back towards the coop, showing little regard for my carefully groomed plumage. Tossed back into the ring, the door locks behind me and I collapse in an exhausted heap.
    Time to plot my next escape plan. Maybe tomorrow I'll try this flying thing the apes keep joking about; It sounds faster.    


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