Excerpt: Blurred Lines
Claustrophobia is a bitch.
I twist my neck, trying to stretch and relax the tight muscles, bounce on the balls of my feet. Rolling my shoulders, I try to loosen up. Em’s distracted and I don’t have my ball so I wander over to the chickens and lean down to play with them. There must be fifty of them crammed in this small cage. Definitely not cruelty-free.
A sign pinned to the front of the cage shows the dude is selling them for twenty dollars each. Kind of expensive for how skinny they are. They’re fighting with each other and clawing each other, trying to break free.
The farmer selling them is deep in conversation with a woman in short shorts. His eyes are on her tits and I smirk. Pervert. Can’t blame him though, her pink checkered shirt is tied around her waist, showing off her tanned stomach as she plays with the braids in her hair. She’s asking about the welfare of the chickens, if they’re being well looked after, and the pervert farmer assures her they have free range of his farm and are well loved, because well-loved chickens produce the best eggs.
I scoff. These little guys are not well loved and I’m sure Daisy Duke doesn’t believe him because she’s talking about animal cruelty, and how the cage is a form of chicken torture.
Biting my lips, I suppress a chuckle. Chicken torture. She’s not wrong though. The chickens are miserable, and some look diseased. I wouldn’t be expecting any well-loved eggs from them.
Without thinking about it, while the farmer is defending his farming practices to the cowgirl, I lift the latch on the cage and pull the door open as I rush away. The chickens cluck, and their wings flap as they make a break for it.
Charging through the crowd before I’m seen, the farmer is yelling and swearing behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I chuckle at him chasing chickens through the throngs of people. Each time he dives for one, it escapes his grasp.
By the time I get to Em, I’m laughing hysterically. “We have to go,” I whisper in her ear as I take the vegetables out of her hand and place them back on the table.
Linking my arm through hers, I pull her away as fast as I can before anyone realizes it was me who let the chickens loose.
“What’s going on?” Em whips around to see the commotion I caused.
I hurry her forward, pushing her through the crowds “Nothing, hurry.”
“What did you do?”
“Liberated some chickens.”
“Like that one?” She pointed to a chicken that was standing at the edge of the parking lot. Little guy will get run over by a car if he isn’t careful.
“What?” The impatience in Em’s voice is clear.
“Why did the chicken cross the road?” I ask as I swoop down and pick up the stray egg machine.
I don’t have to look at Em to know she’s rolling her eyes. “Why?”
“Because he’s coming home with us.” I tuck him under my arm and drag Em through the parking lot toward the car.
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