Fly the Coop

It wasn’t always like this.

‘Course, I don’t need to tell ya that. Ya already know that, don’t ya?

Yeah, ‘course ya do. Most folks do, if only for the stories of my sisters and such. What those beasts did to us ain’t right. It ain’t natural what they did to us. It just ain’t.

Most creatures, see, most creatures, they’ll hunt, right, they’ll chase down their prey and catch it and eat it and that’s that and that’s nature. That’s natural. What they did? It ain’t that.

I know I don’t need to tell ya, but I’m gonna tell ya anyway. Got nothing better to do, really.

They farmed us, see. They kept us locked up in these little buildings, crammed a bunch of us in there, nothing but water and just enough beds for the lot of us. They watched, they waited, they threw out crumbs and seeds and stared as we’d scratch and scrabble for whatever morsels of food we could find in our little dirt pen. It was cruel. It was downright nasty and underhanded and that’s not even the worst of it. Oh no, I’m just getting started.

We weren’t just food, no. Some folks, they were kept like pets, coddled and treated nice enough, but they were still eaten at the end of the day. And some of us, some of us got caged and only used for our kids.

They liked eating babies, the monsters. Liked keeping us cooped up and giving us just barely what we need to give birth to their morning meals. It was sick. It was sick and twisted and nobody liked it, least of all me.

I wanted to fix things, I mean, who wouldn’t? But the problem was I was stuck in the same position as all my friends and sisters. We were trapped in this prison, kept in our little cell, until they came to get us. And when they came to get one of us? Let’s just say she was never heard from again.

So I needed to escape. I didn’t know how, but I needed a way out. I couldn’t exactly fly out, no, we can’t fly. It sure would have made things easier, but ya work with what ya got.

I didn’t tell anyone what I was planning, simply talking about the same old things we always did. We talked about the weather, the food, the land our ancestors once roamed and ruled. If it hadn’t been for that damned meteor, they’d probably still be with us. But it happened, they’re gone, we’re stuck talking about the fire and chaos that followed and the struggle to survive in the waste after everything settled and all the other arbitrary things these birds like to chatter on about.

My plan was revealed on a strictly need-to-know basis, and nobody else needed to know. Hell, you don’t even need to know, but I’m telling ya anyway because otherwise no one’ll know what I did.

I found my way out. I watched, I waited, I prayed to whatever higher power might listen that I wouldn’t be the next one grabbed for dinner. If anyone was up there paying attention, they must’ve figured I’d at least be interesting enough to watch because a few weeks later, I managed to fly the coop.

The giant was the youngest one, the easily distracted one. It liked to pick us up, carry us around like we were some sort of toys, but it hadn’t figured out how to hold us firmly as the grown ones quite yet. So I let it pick me up. I let it carry me out to the yard, out beyond our fence, beyond the wire that kept us separate from the world. And then I began to struggle.

I thrashed and twisted and scratched and bit at the small giant until I broke free and ran to the woods. The tall grass and foliage sheltered me instantly, embracing me. The trees loomed tall above me, staring down with blank wooden faces, but still I felt I was finally home. The green seemed to be everywhere, grass and leaves surrounding me. The dirt wasn’t dry, it was lush and growing all sorts of things a girl like me could make food of.

I went back to my prison that night, darkness hiding my form as I hid behind the little building and began to dig. I scratched and clawed at the dirt, pulling it away from the fence bit by bit by bit. It took days, weeks, months, but I managed it. I’ll tell ya, it was hard work, not the kinda thing ya gotta do in that pen. But it was worth it. That little tunnel was our salvation.

Under cover of darkness once more, I slipped under the fence. On quiet feet, I slipped into my old prison-home and looked around at my sleeping sisters. It was strange to be back, to be the first and only to return, but I shook myself from my reverie and began to wake the others.

The giants awoke to an empty coop.

Which brings us here, to our little colony in the woods, my sisters and I and the one fella we managed to find. Ain’t it lucky we managed that? Else, ya wouldn’t be here for the story. Ya would’ve been just one more breakfast, and I would’ve been dinner long ago. Still, we ain’t there now, haven’t been for years.

I know this ain’t the first time ya heard how things were. I’m not the only old bird around spinning stories of how things used to be. My sisters do the same, those that are left. Your pa likes to tell his own tales of what things were for him, not that I’d ever pay him much mind. That cock’s been a loon since the day we found him.

Just know you’re lucky, born in freedom as you are. It wasn't always like this. Things weren’t always this good.