The Chirp of a Number

Author's note: Hi guys! Third story:) I liked writing this one, and hope you all enjoy it! Just so you know, when Steve calls the reader an idiot, that is not me, that is me trying to show Steve's personality:) Have a happy new year, and please comment, because I would love your feedback!!!

Part 1: Chick's chirp

You, the reader, the random stranger reading this, probably like birds. Chickens, to you, are creatures who are helpful, and give humanity eggs!

Yeah, that's what it seems like. But you'll never know what chickens and birds are actually like until you own one. And believe me, you never want to own a chicken. Ever.

Chick dropped by this morning. You, ignorant reader, do not know Chick. Be glad. She's far too optimistic for her own good.

I have the unfortunate experience of knowing her, and thoroughly regret every moment of it. Especially that morning, because when she came to my door, she was holding a putrid-smelling package. It was a box with holes in it.

Personally, I thought it was a puppy. I didn't want a puppy, because you have to train and take care of them, and that's a huge hassle. Plus, they poop and pee everywhere, and bite you, and are all around gross.

But I'm getting off-topic. You want to know about Chick, I'm guessing. And the package.

Chick, balancing the package in one hand and a Starbucks drink in the other, grinned at me. "Morning Steve!" she chirped happily, then thrust the package into my arms. "I gotcha a little something!"

I assume I scowled. Chick was not the type of person I liked, and I wasn't one for smiling, anyway. "Why?"

Her smile faltered a little, which pleased me. "Well...just because, I suppose. I mean, after everything, I figured you could use a little..."

I raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just...you know what, never mind. Take the gift. Like it. And, maybe call me later, OK?"

I didn't respond, because I had heard a weird noise. I think Chick left after that, which was nice. I didn't want her chirpy, high-pitched voice anywhere near me.

Speaking of chirpy, high-pitched voices, that's what the noise I had heard sounded like. I quickly shut my door, and laid the box on the ground.

It really smelled. I had to plug my nose before opening it, and when I did open it, I shut it a second later.

Not because of the smell. Because of shock.

Dear, idiotic reader, Chick had given me chicks.

Part 2: The Box of Chick(s)

I mentioned that I didn't want a puppy, yes? OK, good. Thing is, I wanted a puppy a whole lot more than I wanted this box of screeching, smelling, gross, chicks. And I hate puppies with a passion.

But what could I do? Because reader, I didn't want to let those chicks die. Mainly because I'm not horrible, but also because...well, because of someone I knew, I suppose.

No, nosy reader, I will not elaborate. That is my own memory.

Point being, I figured that I would sort of take care of the chicks, and call Chick, who would surely take them from me. Out of my care.

Yes, I would have to talk to Chick, but you needed pain to take away more pain. That's how the phrase goes, right?

In the meantime, however, there were some chicks I had to take care of. I figured the box wouldn't do, so I walked into my garage and found a Rubbermaid container. I set some towels on the bottom and put the chicks in.

There were 5 of the squaking, gross little bodies, and I ended up mesmerized staring at the strange patterns on their feathers. Without noticing, I named them. The one with grey feathers and yellow feet was Eagle. The one that looked like a sunrise was Bright. The one that seemed as if it had every shade of yellow in it was Bannana. Art was the one that looked like an abstract painting. And finally, Marigold, the all-brown one with splotches of yellow on the tips of their feathers.

Yes, stupid reader, I named the chicks. Might as well. Chick would take them soon. I would call her, and her high pitched nasal voice would emerge into my house and sweep the chicks out from under my watch. I would revel in Chick and the chicks absence.

After all the chicks were in the Rubbermaid container, I looked around for food. Eventually, I settled on some carrots and Cheerios. It was a strange meal, but what did I care?

You probably think that I am a cruel poultry owner. You think that I should've gotten them food made for chickens, and put bedding in their container. Sprung for a heat lamp, and a waterer. I refuse though. The chicks will leave soon. I will not prove my ownership.

I texted Chick, and she came over in a half hour, ringing the doorbell twice, just to make sure I would answer.

I didn't blame her-I wouldn't have come to the door on any normal day, but today wasn't normal.

"Steve!" Chick gasped, her cheeks flushed from the January cold outside. "Do you like the chicks?"

Reader, you already think me a jerk. Here I prove you wrong. I didn't want to tell Chick that I hated her gift, because I was human. So, being human, I dodged the subject.

"They're in the garage, come here."

"Do you like them, though?" Chick repeated, followin me through my house.

"Why did you give them to me?" I avoided yet again.

Chick's bit her lip. "Just...I though you might enjoy them. A change, I suppose."

"I hate change."

"Maybe not this type. Have you liked them so far?"

"Elaborate on that whole 'change' idea."

"You're dogding my question!" Chick exclaimed. "Do you like them?!"

"Well, you're avoiding mine!" I replied. "So, elaborate."

"Steve!" she yelled. "You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

"No, I don't."

She glared at me, and I could see tears in her eyes. "Yes, you do."

I must've looked confused, because she sighed in frustration. "Really, Steve. You're better than this. I'm leaving."

Chick marched out the door with her chirpy voice, unfortuantely leaving the chicks behind.

I plopped onto my couch in annoyance. Sadly, I did know what she was talking about. I remembered her and...and Marigold.

Yes, idiot reader, Marigold. Not the chick, the human. Marigold was that special person you surely wanted to know about. And unlike Chick, you would want to know her.

Marigold was the type of person who loved animals, chickens most of all. I tolerated her rabbit when we dated, and always had to bite my tounge when she found a new butterfly, but after she moved, and we broke up, I was a shell...of my former self.

But, annoying reader, like I said earlier, I will not elaborate. Ever. I will no longer talk about Marigold. Instead, I will talk about the disgusting chicks sqwaking and pecking in their container...

*ding*

My phone went off. I clicked on it, and their was a text. From Chick. It was an apology, which I quickly ignored...(that sort of thing was rather cheesy for my taste.) However, it was sent by a follow-up text, one with a phone number and a short message.

CHICK:

She's in town. Meet up with her.

I winced. I reconized the number knew why Chick would send it to me, after all, her and Marigold were friends...

And Marigold was in town. After living in Scotland for so long, after moving there, which caused our break-up, (long-distance realtionships are so pointless,) she came back.

For me? I will never know.

But, idiot, nosy, loving, reader, I did use that number.

STEVE:

Hey, do you want to meet up? I recently got some chicks from Chick...she gave me your number

MARIGOLD:

Of course! How about tommorrow?

The End