life on the farm & thoughts on the idiocy of mukbangs

etcetera

I sat across from them

So beautiful

So cute

Totally innocent

Small feet

Small mouths

Soft texture

Unique colors

Funny sounds

A life of service

I would go out there and sit with them

Watch them

About a dozen of them

They’d look to be mindlessly walking

Something meditative about it

A simple life

Eating. Sleeping. Relaxing. Communal.

Something humans wish they were.

Chickens.

Out on the farm I was working at.

Then one fateful day.

Sun shining.

Streaks of light through trees.

We’re called to gather around.

I need to see a show of hands.

Who wants to slaughter the chickens?