gonzo forrester \\ cb \\ d7 [done]

He keeps to his chickens because they are the only ones to tell him the truth. Sweet, warbling trills that wake him from the hay of his bed. Their eggs keep him fed, keep him growing, taller still than so many of his brothers and sister. The meat off their bones keeping him strong. Their feathers soft to touch, warm as they gather ‘round him. No one questions his love, or their love for him. He is their master, their executioner. But by day he is but a boy learning the world by watching each of them, tending to their sicknesses and making sure they are fed.

The future is inside of them.

It is why he reserves the best for his ceremonies.

He weeps holding them by their necks, his blade steady and quick across the throat.

Blood across the dirt calls to spirits, past and present. He pulls apart the feathers and his blade finds the torso. A deeper cut exposes the twisted intestines, the liver, and further in, the heart. Scattered in a circle, he reads how they fall. Can see, as his fingers twitch dripping blood, all what could be. If only the rest believed his haruspicy, and not just a childish game. Or worse – that his mind was tainted.

At least he could have love here, among the coops that dotted the edges of the forest. His own little hovel scattered with chicken feathers. They’d be true to him, and he to them.

ripred_bot