kaolin fire presents :: writing :: fiction

"GeorgeCPullet.0"

words

http://www.rustybarnes.com/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=2422#2422

George C. Pullet's path meandered, but if anyone had thought to trace the chicken's overall trajectory, they would have seen he was headed towards the palace. His movement was a chaotic dance of mimicry--pecking here, scratching there, and it was only the slightest deviations in the natural order that caused him to have an actual progress. He was headed to the slaughter.

The palace chef picked George C. Pullet without thought. It would have happened eventually, and today was that eventual.

Three undigested, unexpelled pieces of oatmeal made their way to the prelate's soup.

Two weeks later, that's where the epidemic started.