“This is not good,” Sam Gregory thought waking from uneasy dreams. He let out a cluck that caught himself by surprise.
Below his bedroom, in the kitchen, his family heard the cluck and ran up to see a giant chicken in Sam’s bed. The Gregory family was so poor, they mostly ate bread and potatoes.
Now they would have eggs, and eventually a fine chicken dinner. Protein! God had fulfilled their prayers.
“If only Sam were here to see this,” his mother said. None of them found it odd that they had not seen Sam leave that morning, and that a giant chicken was wearing his pajamas.
“But I am here,” Sam clucked excitedly. But it was no use, his family only thought the chicken was excited to be there to feed them.
“He’ll stay here for now,” his father said. “When Sam comes back, he can decide if this chicken should stay here or go someplace else.”
Later that day, Sam laid an egg. It was the strangest sensation: to feel something harden inside him, then slip out into the cold air. Sam’s first instinct was to protect it.
But when his sister came in to fetch it, he did not put up a fight.
“Potato omelets!” she exclaimed and ran down to her family.
Sam could smell the fruit of his insides being fried in the kitchen below him.
Every morning, his mother brought him feed, and every afternoon, his sister collected his egg. At night, his father checked in on him and usually exclaimed: “That bird will be ready for eating soon!”
Nobody seemed to notice that Sam was no longer there. More egg for them.
As December crept to a close, he often heard his parents say: “This Christmas we’ll have a feast that will last us into the New Year.”
Sam had gotten pretty fat. Not that he had much exercise in the past few months, just pecking around his room.
The idea of being eaten by his family was not very appealing, but if he had to be eaten, who better to do it than his own flesh and blood.
He tried to tell them that if they did not eat him, he was sure to give them eggs for years to come. By this time, he did not mind the sacrifice of his potential children. But his clucking went unheard.
It was Christmas Eve, and his family was dining on their last potato omelet. Sam was given a bigger portion of feed than ever before. His family would not need it after tomorrow.
“Let us thank God for working in mysterious ways,” he heard his father say.
“Amen,” his mother and sister concurred.
That night, Sam was lulled to sleep by the rythmic sound of his mother sharpening her knives.
Inside The Writer’s Fridge
Why do we ask all writers to send a picture of the inside of their fridge? We’re not sure. Do we expect to learn something, to detect a pattern? We hope not. We’re just having some fun. So have a look inside…
Thomas J. Misuraca’s Fridge
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Tom Misuraca studied writing at Emerson College in Boston before moving to Los Angeles. He’s published over 80 short stories and two novels, including the vampire parody, Lifestyles of the Damned. His plays have been produced in many US cities. In June, his ten-minute play, Happily Ever After, and his full length play, ‘Til They Do Us Part, will be read at the The City of West Hollywood’s Gay Pride Reading Festival. In July, his musical, Geeks! will be produced in San Diego at the Ion Theatre. More info at www.tommiz.com