Where I Come From

I have always wondered where my kind go when we die: the regular heaven or hell? I doubt.
Like you, I don’t come from a nuclear family with father, mother and children. No, my father played no role in my life aside climbing my mother and pouring loads of children inside her. There are others from my tribe who are opportuned to grow up with their mothers. I didn’t know my mother or my father. I grew up in the midst of other homeless chicks like me.
I didn’t know about the world where I come from. It was a blank space before here. I opened my eyes one day to a field of homeless chicks of white and yellow colours. I would have called them a “beautiful sight” if I were human. The only good thing about growing up in the orphanage called Poultry is that there was enough food to eat, my throat was never dry, and most importantly I had a shelter over my head.
Ooh please, they are not nice people. Humans are very selfish. It’s all for their own interest. They feed us and keep us in great shape so that they make better sells during the seasons. The funniest thing is that they have a forklore they tell their children to justify their killings. They narrate how a meeting was called in the animal kingdom and all the animals attended except fowl. The agenda of the meeting was to discuss what they will do to stop humans from killing them. Fowl had earlier said that anything agreed in the meeting was okay by him. So at the meeting, the animals agreed that fowl should be killed during festivals. Hahhaha Bravo to the Human that came up with such dump story right? Ooh they know none of it is true, they use it to teach morals to their children.
I waited with my siblings (just my cage mates) for the day each of us get to go to the market. We were like a new bride preparing for her dance. That day did come. I remember the first time we were taken to the market. It was my first and last. Everywhere was so noisy. While some part of the market of the market was clean, some where dirty and littered with pure water sachets.
I remembered escorting a woman home that day. I waved at my mates with tears in my eyes. I knew what was gonna happen, we all knew it was a Christmas season. I did die but about two weeks after I was bought like a slave at the market. A relative gifted my Madam a fowl who was killed and used for the cooking.
I was kept at one part of the compound and there I bonded with Chioma, my Madam’s four year old daughter. She was all over me from day one. It was the first time I have seen a human fascinated by a Fowl. Not like I’m beautiful. I’m not really good at descriptions but let me try to paint you a picture. I’m a Cock, (the male of a Fowl), with a huge comb on top of my head. I have a little scared on the left side of my face. Scary right? What Chioma saw in me I’m yet to understand.
Chioma was literally chasing me up and down. Whenever she woke up from sleep, she runs out of the houses to the half collapsed shade I was kept. With her came grains of rice and other edible plus water. She talked to me even though I couldn’t understand her, I knew her words were positive things. She touched me without fear unlike some four year old humans like her who are generally afraid of Fowls. My problem was that I was getting used to that life of having Chioma bring me food every morning. I even thought we were gonna overcome the language barrier someday and get married. I saw the headlines clearly “Unbelievable: Human marrys Fowl, History made: Meet human who married a Fowl”. My dreams were not to be. One morning, I woke up expecting to see Chioma but it was her mother’s face that greeted me instead. In that moment I knew my time had come. As I was taken to the journey of my death, Chioma kept pleading on my behalf but her cries were like water poured on stone. They just hit a brick wall and spatter.
Soon, I felt the coldness of the knife on my throat, memories of my life flashed before me and paused at Chioma’s face. Then, darkness…
The life of a fowl is useless I must say; all we do is to live to die. But isn’t that what other creatures do even the “superior” man? The most painful thing is that we have no rest even after being murdered. Our bodies are either fried, roasted, boiled or done all three simultaneously. Then we end up in the show glasses, pot of soup, stew, rice and other dishes. How did I know this? I have watched them murder others like me. They slit their throats and watch blood gush out while they discuss and act like nothing happened, Babarians! I didn’t know what they used mine to make or if Chioma ate me or not.
Now I’m in a place of light. We have our own King and Queen. When I had opened my eyes to find myself there, they said I deserved a place at the table for I accepted my fate smiling.

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