Monday, November 02, 2009
Occupied voluptuously in self-absorption of the acquired current disposition, the rooster and its chick separated and drifted away around the decaying exterior of the house. Graphite, rust and soil remain in union. I started to move to perform the necessity: The weak shall die. Taking the offense was the primal resolution.
Passing through the artificial terrain, I furthered through the dead poultry. I finally saw the rooster steady on the edge, head bowed, as if stoned and concentrated in its stead. As I advanced, what I saw was its remorseful power: It was eating its opponent, one of the supposed comrade. The chicken started devouring the head. The graphic was blatant, the blood was all over of what was left of the body. The beak of the rooster was dripping with blood from its delightful ordeal, as if pleased and cautious of its ritual. It was its form of transgression to the other kind.
I proceeded in my return to where I first stood, where the entirety of the supposed comrades were. I was able to receive the sight of the chick, unknown of its responsibility, wandering over the coconut tree where the beautiful small red herb fruits reside. There were three of us left: I, an old lady by the chico tree, and another woman with a peculiar frequency. They were aware, but blameless.
In front of the entire senses, the chick ran with its resentful stepping to the chico tree and started devouring the old lady. Morose, it slowly complied to its nature. In an entire minute, the blood from the old lady behaved with gore and madness as the two of us were left unscathed, observing the consciousness it enforces delicately to our needing greed. The element was gone, the chick displeased at its gluttony, the rooster ran to where its chick reside and ate its kind.
It was the final act. The rooster began to devour the head of its chick, the body dropping, the blood overpowering in its stagnation. Experiencing the demeanor, the fear was achieved. That was when the last supposed comrade started to speak directly:
"I will lend my hand, you kneel up to the rusting roof and be saved. They could not take flight."
She was smiling while reaching out her left hand. It was a function, a directive. It was her sacrifice, I was with the time to survive. I started to kneel on her hand and went up to the roof, lying on my stomach and looking down as the last supposed comrade rancidly consumed. In delirium, the rooster satisfied itself and preoccupied itself in entering the interior. It was then that I saw a usual companion, trapped in the roofless slaughterhouse beside the dead poultry.
The usual companion, with its bounty started to attack mine as it appeared out of nowhere. This phenomenon, it was against the same kind: The bounty against its own, I against the usual companion. The angry expression was inescapable. From the roof, I began to avoid and jumped through the roofless slaughterhouse to the misplaced mango tree. I was in flight, they entirety was not.
The huge bounties were in dispute. I remain in acknowledgment to where I was artlessly committed. The usual companion started running towards the gate of the exterior to the gardens from where I jumped and started to climb another tree, as if in vision to reach what had to be destroyed. In strategy, I disengaged from flight and pursued towards the roadway away from the house of origin, to lose sight and direction of the usual companion. I ran amok in a weary sunset, unaware of the building weakness among the setting until I lost sight of both the usual companion and its defeated bounty. I decided to go back.
Marching through the interiors as I went up the stairways to the poor man's chamber, I saw of what was left of the chick. It was the beak dripping with blood, hard and burdening. With the destroyed walls, the rooster roused with blood all over its body and ate the beak. Despite knowing the existence I had offered, it progressed without flight. The diadem was reinstituted.
There was a commotion to the strange death of the house below. I caught the weak rooster with a thick cloth in thought of delicacy. I held it firmly and disgusted, I do not want to share with its filth, for it will die to be eaten.
Erika Ruiz
