I Am Writing This Now. Because I Will Be Dead Tomorrow.
No one can say that death found in me a willing comrade, or that I went easily.
― Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Princess
Dear Chikodi,
This is no letter of formalities. I am not going to ask how you are. Because that does not matter. But I will do you a favour and tell you now that soon you will be just like me. Dead. Just like I will be when this letter gets to you.
Sometimes, I wish that life was different for us. That we were a bird of prey like the eagles. Or that we were beautiful like the peacocks. Or majestic like the swans. But we are not. It is our terrible lot to come to this world as chickens. Despised and disrespected by all. Killed at every whim. On every random celebration. They will kill me this Christmas—these humans. They will kill me.
Yesterday, I heard the older human gather his children around. One crawled to him and said, “Papa, tell us the story about the chicken. Why is the chicken killed every Christmas?” The human smiled, cleared his throat, and began:
‘Once upon a time, humans and animals were still able to communicate. There was a problem. Every Christmas, the humans needed meat for the Christmas celebrations. And to be fair, they wanted the animals to decide on the animal to be killed. So they sent the Dog with the message to the animals.
‘The animals called for a meeting.’ the father said to his children, ‘By the stipulated time, all the animals were present except one—the Chicken. All the animals waited for the Chicken for hours, but he did not come. Angrily, they decided that the Chicken would be the animal to be killed every Christmas.
‘The moral of the story is to be punctual and always present when decisions are made, so that a decision that will not favor you will not be brought up.’
Chikodi, that is a lie. The animals lied. They did not say how some animals hated how we were always large in number. They thought that with our numbers, we would soon overthrow their plans. They did not say how they intentionally told Chicken — our ancestor — the wrong venue for the meeting. How he got lost and how they connived to make him the victim. Now this is the story they tell. That we are irresponsible.
When I was taken from the farm, they tied my legs, put me in a plastic bag, and threw me in the back of their car. I tried to escape. I did. I thrashed and screamed but to no avail. All I got was laughter from these cruel humans and fatigue.
I wish I could tell you that when they tied me to their gate and offered me food and water, I rejected it. I wish I could say that I kicked it and defiantly refused to eat. I wish that I did not immediately rush to the bowl of water by my feet. But Chikodi, understand that I am an animal too. It is blood that runs through my veins.
After the poor meal of water and leftover rice, I was ashamed. And the shame became anger and the anger rid me of any sleep. I decided that if I could not sleep, these people would not sleep too. I have always had a loud voice. I was always the loudest rooster. I won all the competitions, remember? this time, I did not crow. I screamed. I screamed for my death which was certainly approaching. I screamed in defiance to these monsters. I screamed because I was angry. I screamed till I was tired of screaming. Till I had no strength left in me.
I escaped that first night. I spent the night pecking at the rope and pulling until my feet blistered. But there was nowhere to run to. They caught me again. And they laughed. They call me He-goat because I am so stubborn. If they wanted a goat, why didn't they get one?
I have lived up to my name. I will not be an easy chicken. I will not be a coward. Every hand that has tried to pet me has been pecked. Can you imagine the guts of these children? When they cry out in pain, I am satisfied. Nobody comes near me without a struggle. Now they stand afar and pelt sticks at me. I do not care.
They are wise to have removed me from the reach of their garden because I have almost destroyed that too. I must tell you, leaves have a funny taste.
My new pastime is defecating like a sick lunatic. I think I am one, even. Death will do that to you. They have to wash the grounds every day. And every time they come, I attack them. This is the only thing I can do for myself, the fear is driving me insane. It is a terrible thing to wait for death.
I have given up on escaping. Tomorrow is their special day. They will kill me in the morning. You do not have to wonder how it will go. I will tell you.
By sunrise, they would wake up with excitement, and put a pot of water on fire. What is the hot water for? To remove my feathers. They will not eat me with feathers, they are no savages. How comical to strip me of the only thing that makes me beautiful. Do not stop reading, Chikodi. It is your right to know how you die.
As I was saying, they would bring out a basin and the knife to cut my neck. When I see the knife, I will go crazy with fear. I will thrash around and fight and bite and try to escape, but they would overpower me. I will twist and turn in their hands. They would trap my wings under one foot, and my legs under the second. They will hold my neck in their left hand and the knife in their right. They will cut off my neck and in their hearts, they will be happy — smiles stretching their faces. Because to them this is Christmas, this is the end of the year ritual. Not the fact that they would eat me, but the sheer act of killing me. This is the joy they get.
And while they are smiling as they cut off my neck, I would be screaming my head off. Get it? Haha. The pain would be unbearable. It would be terrible. My body will shudder until it comes to rest. Then, they will throw me in their basin and pour the boiling water on me. And I would feel the searing pain because Death is not a swift visitor. He lingers. He comes in dosages. They will remove my feathers and butcher me. Chikodi, they will butcher me.
I will die tomorrow. But I am ready for death. I will fight till the last. After all, I have nothing to lose. Death will not find in me a willing comrade.
I hope you will fight too. When your time comes.
Remember me.
Chimeta.
24/12/2023
