Pecking Order
Our food, untouched and cold, sat forbidden until he had finished his. Tears only brought his fist slamming against the table, upending our dishes, twisting our stomachs into painful knots. Mother cowered at the stove, a fresh shade of purple blooming around her eye.
As we grew, feathers started sprouting from his pores. The larger we got, the faster they appeared until no matter how furiously he plucked at them, he could no longer hide who he was. His crowing beget our laughter. When he’d grown fat and slow, we cut off his head and roasted
him for Sunday supper.
Photo Credit: Nick Thompson
You say so much in so few words. Incredible!
What an amazing title.
Come on Jayne, you just keep growing in the writing department. You make me proud”, & I hope you are
patting yourself on the back! Brilliant as usual, perhaps a tad more creepy? I had to read twice! Known you since knee high to a grasshopper, keep it kiddo
Tracy
Outstanding. Chilling story.
Scary dad! Glad he didn’t win the day! Congrats Jayne
Oh, this is one cluckin good story!