He brushed off a feather from his once immaculate pinstripe suit, it was worse for wear, the suit not the feather, the feather was from a chicken that had decided to make a nest of his suit jacket, the chicken had taste, it was after all expensive tailor made apparel with a design too simple to be anything but expensive.
He was really in the dog house now, actually, technically it was the chicken coop. His girlfriend, had kicked him out over a slight Valentine’s day misunderstanding, she wanted to go out on a date, he forgot it was Valentine’s, she expected an expensive gift, he thought it was the thought that counted and besides he was broke, little things like that. He tried to tell her she was over-reacting and that maybe it was hormones and asked if she was on her monthlies, he probably shouldn’t have said that cause that was when she went ballistic. He begged she was relentless, definitely hormones.
Long story short she said he could sleep in the chicken run with her retired hens. She bought them at a discount from an egg farm and retired them one by one for dinner every other day. That was part of what had caused their misunderstanding, he had complained about eating chicken again saying that if he took another bite of chicken meat, feathers would sprout from his ears and he would start clucking, in hindsight it was not the wisest thing to gesture rudely at her with a chicken leg while saying so. She threw him out but kept the heart-shaped lollipop he brought her, that meant she loved him he knew it. All she needed was time and she would see that what he really needed was to simply take a bath, he was beginning to smell like chicken droppings that’s why she would not let him in the house but he could bath, he could change clothes if only he hadn’t let her start a huge bonfire with his clothes in the backyard, but the wrath of the woman had needed appeasing.
At least she fed him, well she said that she was feeding the chickens but who would give chickens a glass of warm milk and toast, probably the oat porridge was for the chickens it was lumpy and tasted horrible but the chickens seemed to love it. How did he know the chickens loved it? Well they scraped the bowl clean didn’t they or maybe after a week in the chicken run maybe he was going a little bit crazy how could one not get crazy with the incessant clucking and squawking of the chickens not to mention they sometimes pecked at his fingers and toes which would seemed like big fat juicy worms to the hens.
Every morning he would plead with her, “How can I go job hunting looking like this? Can you at least talk to my father tell him I gravely ill and he will give you money then we can split fifty-fifty”
“Talk to your father yourself!” she would retort as she shook her head and walked away.
“Go away!” he yelled at someone who kept ringing the bell at the gate, he tried to ignore them till they started honking their horn making the chickens screech ever so irritatingly and for peace of mind finally went to find out what the racket was about. It was a motorcycle delivery man for a courier service.
“I have a package for one Mr Xinyori Mari”
“That’s me” he replied
“Please sign here Sir”
He reached into his pocket to get a pen and instead found an egg there, for half a second he had the absurd idea maybe he had laid an egg. He signed for the package with an X and inspected it, half suspecting it to be from his father but there was no addressee. He looked up to ask who it was from but the motorcyclist was gone, funny he hadn’t heard him ride off or anything but he was gone, as if vanished, it made the back of his neck crawl..
He ripped open the package and in it where flyers, the very same flyers he was suppose to distribute but had thrown away, there was a post it note with the following words neatly scrawled:
Deliver your part of our bargain or The chickens will come home to roost
My #blogbattle entry this week themed feather
And so the tale continues ……….