[Critique Group 1] for 7/27/16 critique

[sitting.duck at springmail.com]

687 words

The Chicken the Egg and Me

by C.  S.  Boyd

I slipped my fingers between the knarled sheet of tin and the weathered wooden frame of the barn door and leaning back, used my slight 60 pounds to pull it open.  The rough wood scrapped my skin threatening to leave a splinter as the door yielded to my weight.

A burst of cool air greeted me providing a pleasant relief to the hot summer air outside.  Inside a rush of flapping wings and excited squawks filled the air as frightened sparrows flew frantically into the three large 3 paned windows along the south wall of the enclosure.  Some escaped immediately through gaps between the window frame and walls while others continued to bruise their heads against the dirty glass in a frantic attempt to find a way out.

The sun’s rays poured through the three lengthwise panes, its rays swirling red, green, and orange in the bright yellow cloud of dust thrown into the air by the flurry of white wings as hens fled to the safety of the rickety wooden perch along the length of the far wall.  The sickening sweet smell of chicken droppings and dust rose to assault my nostrils. I waited while a light blanket of dust settled over the maze of chicken tracks, undiscovered grain, and chicken droppings.

A large fighting game rooster stood on guard determined to prevent me from reaching the uneven row of weathered apple crates lined up along the wall under the windows.  Black feathers covering his body like a suit of shining black armor.  He paced back and forth in front of me, his head held high.  The slender red and yellow feathers on his head and neck stood out in a vivid spray of color.  The bright red crest on top of his head stood erect showing his determination that I should not pass.

.  I had no doubt that he would defend his domain to the death (probably mine) if necessary.

 Despair crept into my soul as I contemplated the long journey before me.  The rooster stopped directly in front of me.  Daring me, I knew, to take a step and die.  I knew I couldn't return to the house without the eggs, mother would never believe there weren't any and would just send me back to try again.  I stood trembling before this determined guardian and wondered if it would hurt very much.  I shook so hard the grocery sack I held by my side began to rattle.  Then, to my surprise, the rooster turned and ran in a flurry of feathers and dust.

I laughed in spite of my fear realizing how easy it had been to defeat this fearsome foe. I now walked boldly toward my goal.  I knelt beside each box in turn gathering the eggs into the sack.

A cackle from the hen in the box at the end announced the laying of a fresh egg.  Coming to the last box, I knelt down and gently reached under the hen to get the newly laid egg.  The hen pecked at me before jumping up and running from the box.  Surprised, I jerked my hand back and got a splinter from the old wooden crate.  Ow! The injured hand went instantly into my mouth.  I tasted blood mingled with dust and spat the disagreeable mixture on the ground.

I picked up the egg.  It felt warm and sticky in my grasp and, to my surprise, it yielded to the slight pressure of my fingers like a small bag of jelly. 

"Ugh! How can I put this in the sack? How can I get it to the house without breaking it?” 

As if in answer to my silent questions, the egg dried and hardened in my grasp.  I ran my fingers over it and found no impressions where my fingers had been. Brushing away a small amount of dirt I found stuck to the bottom, I felt the contrast  between grainy sand and smooth shell and marveled at the complexity of the small fragile object I cradled in my hand.