| He looked down into her sad eyes which were gazing back plaintively. He did not know how he could do that which had to be done. The weight in his hand seemed to grow ten times heavier as he hefted the ax to his shoulder. At first she seemed almost unconcerned, faintly fighting the metal keeping her pinned. When the ax raised above his head she let out a loud squawking noise and struggled mightily to escape. A brief instant later as the feathers drifted down and the blood dripped he knew it was all over. Henrietta the chicken was dead and would soon be in the oven for dinner. |
He turned to the apparition-because he didn't quite know what else to call that person standing before him, who reminded him so much of himself many years ago, before the events that forever marked his life-and said "do you like chicken?"