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Aug. 16th, 2011


Said one angry bird to another...(narrative)

"Get off my car, you damn bird!"

"That is not yours!"

"Shit, watch out! It's angry!"

"But that is not....argh!"

"Call a medic!"

"Call a priest!"

"Call mother loving KFC!"

After her visit with the doctor turned polar bear, the crone thought it was wise to finally check in on her wayward cabin. She'd gone to the Park and was a little surprised to not see anything resembling a rather large chicken, or even a cabin with chicken legs. No, all she saw were animals chasing humans, humans chasing animals, animals chasing animals, and a whole lot of large chicken legless Park. Had the damn thing actually left the Park? )

Aug. 2nd, 2011


You're not a man, you're a Chicken Boo (narrative/Eric)

Angry, that was the word for it. The log cabin wasn't used to this confusion. Angry and afraid. Two words for what it felt. It had been doing its usual rounds in the Park, looking for a nice place to settle while it waited for its mistress to return. It had learned that staying in the Park kept her happy. Or at least less aggravated with it. So, it was doing its normal rounds when people got underfoot. The cabin with its long chicken legs had been minding its own business, as much as it minded anything.

The people had doing whatever people did when they got together, and it was just walking along. Then out of nowhere there was this howl. Or maybe it was bark. It didn't matter. The cabin knew as much as the people who were now running under it for who knew what reason, that that sound was not good. It was an angry sound. One that said run for mere survival.

The cabin couldn't tell that the howl was coming from a jilted lover who found his mate, thinking in the psuedo-wolvie terms that the now werewolf thought it had rights to, coupling with some biped. The wolf wanted revenge. It howled a warning, and went running to tear down the mate and the interloper into the wolf's territory. It really didn't matter the reasons. The wolf, the thing that howled in an angry fashion, was now under the cabin with the people. It felt like the mistress somewhat, and the cabin was trying to get free. The wolf was getting frustrated, and finally bit into a tasty looking leg. The cabin might have saved a life, or at least delayed the pain and suffering to come. The cabin finally got free of the things beneath it and ran to hide and nurse its wounds as best it could.

Later, hours, days, minutes, time was a little strange for the cabin, it woke up and shook itself out. It hadn't ever really slept. Rested, lie dormant, but never slept. It felt weird. There were bits of it that moved more than they used to, and instead of the smoke, there was this sound. That wasn't right. It started walking again, and felt odd inside. It didn't understand. And it surely didn't like how the people were reacting. It used to get awe and amazement, or something like that. Now it was getting laughter?

It kept walking, finally coming to a pool. It had never seen itself, not like people saw themselves, and it certainly had never thought to drink. But, being the instinctual thing it was, it leaned over into the pool, stared at its reflecting, and drank. Then it turned its head to the side and pecked at its feathers.

"Mama, look at that big chicken!"

"Yes, dear, it's a nice big chicken. Now come along. You've got to get up early in the morning for your lessons."

The cabin, now chicken, felt as if sleeping would be a good thing to try again. All these extra moving bits and pieces had tired the poor thing out. It started roaming the Park to find a place to roost, somewhat aware that the mistress would be upset if it left the very large yard/Park.