I am a child of regret. I live in a city of sins. I paint guilt on my face with my blood. Where is my knight?
With a loaded Bersa 83 in wing, the chicken which my mother brought into our house for dinner, ran down the street. It was the very same pistol that was held against my mother, father and sister’s heads.
Oh, how the tables turned.
I chased it down as it’s claws ran through the patched brick and cement. A chase which was fuelled by the harrowing ‘whys’ in my head. Why go after my family? Why was I the only one left untouched? Why run away from me?
My phone buzzed; as the chicken ran towards the local McDonalds. The American dream,
the hallmark of modern productivity.
I downed 17 Big Macs on my 17th birthday here. Well, it was a bet so I couldn’t help it. I ate
about three chickens, three lives, for this bet.
But it made sense - “Do you want me to be vegan?”, I shouted at the chicken. Revenge killing makes complete sense. “I have got too used to the taste, but I can try to stop now!"
Grief gets you to try negotiate with a chicken.
The chicken turned around and shot three pigeons. Killing your own kindred makes no sense. I safely believe my diet isn’t what irked this murderous chicken.
The chase went on. The chicken ran into the deepest of the city’s lanes and streets. This chicken knows it’s shit.
My phone buzzed again as the chicken ran towards an alleyway. The frustrations of this city drain into the graffiti on the walls here. Roguish sad walls well hidden behind the bustling lights of this city.
Familiar walls and graffitis hit my sight. The smell of spray paints triggered my memories of her.
“Hey chicken!”, I shouted. “Are you with the Church? I only kissed another girl here because she was pretty!”
The chicken turned around and shot again. The bullet hit a FOX News Reporter this time.
Well, at least the murderous chicken is not homophobic.
The chase went on again. The chicken ran into a run-down warehouse.
Inside, was another being alongside the halted chicken. The mastermind behind the atrocities I was put through. The final boss that had the answers to my gloom.
The Duolingo Owl.
Oh hell no.
My phone’s buzz got stronger. The buzz of death. I dared to peak into the glaring screen. My French-class streak has been in a great jeopardy. 38 notifications that all say “Looks like you forgot your lessons again! You know what happens now!”
Duo turned towards me. The menacing green feathers held its eyes and beak together in malign mischief.
In an ever eerie joyful tone, Duo muttered under its breath, “Ay, mira quién es!”
Oh, fuck.
Green bird of educative violence approached me with slow steps. Each of its heavy steps crushed my soul to fear. My mind went blank and face boiled of shameful uneasiness with
each of its step getting closer and closer.
I squared up and screamed, “Tu manges un pizza!”, as the owl shadowed before me. The last of all my strength and courage flowed in French gibberish. The embarrassment of “You eat a pizza” in French being my last words was enough to kill me off.
But lo, I was untouched for quite a while. Hallelujah?
“French?”, Duo muttered. It turned its face towards the chicken who was standing afar. “Not Spanish?”
“Spanish?”, I enquired.
The owls’s wide eyes fell into distress.
“Oh shit. We got the wrong person.”
But before the owl, or I, could bawl out into rage, a round was shot from the Bersa 83 from
behind. The chicken has done shot Duo as well.
Oh, you have done it now. It’s so over. I don’t need my answers anymore. I must hunt this
lunatic chicken down. Or run away as fast as I can.
“You still don’t understand, do you?”, the chicken spoke while reloading its Bersa 83. The chicken spoke.
“I am the only one trying to protect your little life here.”, it slowly approached me with these heavy words.
“Protect me? You were maniacally shooting people around me.”
“I shot everyone who made you question yourself.”
It all made sense now.
The entire chase, I scaled the city through my sins, my regret, my guilt. The chicken saw it all. The chicken ended the causes of it all. Whoever pushed my mind to questioning my sanity were slain by the chicken.
Thus, it all made sense when the chicken placed the pistol on my forehead.
Before anyone else, I am the cause of my miseries, the well of my tears. The chicken softly planted his beak on my lips as a final nod. As my lips parted, the trigger was pulled.
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