Rain of Chickens

The chickens rained down like hail. Fifty of them, all feathers and fat and clucking, tumbling out of their cages as Eli inspected their eggs. Like a biblical apocalypse, he was terrified as shells landed on his shoulders, yolks dripping down his clean white coat.

Eli knew how the chickens escaped. It was that new kid. He had seemed like a hippy type, all “Look after the chickens,” and “Treat them humanely”. He was probably one of those damned animal rights dweebs. Well, now he was a dweeb without a job.

When the squawks abated and he no longer felt large bodies ricocheting off of him, Eli raised his head, removed his hands, and looked around. Seven cages were open, their inmates wandering around the room and pecking at the floor. He checked the other cages, locking the twelve that were open but whose occupants were too stupid to realize it. Then he set himself to the task of gathering the fifty birds and stuffing them back in their homes.

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