Write a short story about 'Freedom.'
Okay, I thought, I can do that. From there, the gears in my brain began spinning.
Those of you who know me have likely picked up that I am slightly obsessed with birds. It seemed natural that I should base my short story around them. I began thinking of the confined commercial laying hens who supply our big stores with eggs. I feel sorry for the poor creatures, locked up in cages for their entire lives. That's certainly not the way God intended for us to treat His creatures. Caged is a flash fiction piece exploring how a commercial laying hen might feel after being freed from confinement and released into a new, more natural enviroment. It gives some details of the chicken's past situation, but for the most part, it is simply light-hearted imagining.
Back in 2022, Caged was awarded an Honourable Mention in humanitasfamily.net's Freedom Short Story Contest. Since then, it's been sitting in my files, gathering digital dust. I figured that I should pull it out and beat that dust off. Perhaps it will make a few of you smile.
Caged
Flash Fiction By Lilyana Page
Some people keep hens in their backyard, whether for show, for eggs, for pets, or for meat. Other people keep hens commercially, in cages. I am a commercial hen.
The commercial caging system is cruel. I have never been outside. None of us have. We are kept in enormous sheds full of long rows of cages stacked high in tiers. We are fed from a trough just outside the bars of our cages, and when we lay an egg, it rolls down the sloped floor and stops outside of the cage underneath the feeding trough. The sloped, wire floor is very uncomfortable, and it gives many of us foot problems.
There are three hens to a cage. I share with Daisy and Dinah. We are very good friends, which is fortunate, because some of the hens in the tier above us do not get along. They pull each other's feathers and fight. Daisy, Dinah, and I get along well. We sleep close together each night, and talk in the daytime. We help each other keep our spirits up, which can be very hard to do in this awful place.
It has been a rough day today. My cage mates and I are unhappy. A man came today and took away some of the hens. Everyone is frightened. Even the squabbling chickens above us have ceased to fight. Everyone is whispering about who will be next to go. I don't want to die and be eaten. We all know that our turn will come someday, when we begin to lay less eggs.
Every day I dream of what it would be like to be free. To have adventures with Daisy and Dinah, to know that we would always be safe.
The next day, the man is back, but this time there is a lady in a yellow dress with him. "Here they are, Ma'am. Are they what you are looking for?" Asks the man, pushing a big cart piled with crates. He stops in front of us.
"Yes, they are, Mr. Harris. I can get them myself. Thank you." The lady's big hoop earrings swing as she talks.
Our cage door creaks open, and the lady gently grabs me. She sets me in one of the crates. Food and water are in dishes hooked between the slats of the crate.
"Squawk! Where do you suppose she'll take us?" Dinah ruffles her feathers with excitement, "I'm scared!" she winks at me, "But I'm excited too!"
Daisy joins us in the crate, and the man nails the cover on. The flowery lady and the man work together until all ten crates are filled. Thirty of us are leaving the shed with no idea where we are going. I am terrified, but I think I trust this lady.
We are loaded onto the back of the lady's truck. "Thanks, Mr. Harris, we'll be on our way."
"No problem. Will you be back next month?"
She smiles at Harris and hands him some cash. Then she turns and gets in the truck.
The air fills with squawks as we begin to move. I do my best to remain calm so that my cage mates will too. They are more flighty than I.
"Here we are, my biddies! We're home!" The lady unloads the crates and proceeds to pry out the nails. We are all carefully set in a secure, green yard with fencing around and over it.
What is this green stuff? It tastes good. I fly up to the top of the spacious pen and squawk happily. The lady laughs merrily.
"How do you like the grass?"
So that is what the green stuff is called. Mmm...
The flowery lady tells us all about our new home. I don't think she realizes that we understand, but we all flap our wings joyfully as she croons gently and tells us that we will never see a stewpot. She only wants us as pets. She grooms us and gives us baths. We are fed everything under the sun, I'm sure. Except for anything in the nightshade family, like potatoes, cabbage, peppers and such. The lady tells us she is sorry, but we can't have them because they will make us sick.
She keeps a garden for herself and us. When one of the naughtier chickens in our flock gets into the garden, she simply scolds the chicken gently and puts her back in. Then she fixes the hole so that it won't happen again. We love her. She saved us from the stewpot and treats us like royalty. The chickens who used to fight with each other when we were caged are beginning to get along with each other. I think it is because of the lady's kindness to us all. There seems to be no end to her love or chicken feed, for she heads back the next month and brings home thirty more hens. Visitors come often, and sometimes one or two hens leave with them. Our "mother" as we refer to her amongst ourselves, assures us that they are being taken to other loving homes as pets.
Eventually I, Daisy, and Dinah go home with a young girl. Shaya is almost as kind as the flowery lady. We grow to love her as well. I love to sit in her lap and get petted by her gentle hand. Shaya's German shepherd has adopted us and followed us around the farm all day while Shaya is in school. The dog keeps us safe as we spend our days going on adventures, knowing that we will always be safe.