Author: Magritha PM
So now I'm back from outta space... hey guys, theres and real, GOOD summary inside! Come on in, the heaters on...Rated: Fiction K - English - Angst - Words: 1,176 - Reviews: 2 - Published: 09-12-04 - id: 2054353
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Summary: It's been done a hundred times but it's a review on thoughts after the farm. You can guess who it is.
Author's notes: You may see I've left out Rocky riding by on his tricycle with the radio playing and seeing the Tweedy billboard. To be honest, it just didn't fit in with the plot of this fic. I've got nothing against CR but how did Rocky come across that radio with his trike? Maybe he found another one because when he climbs under the fence he doesn't seem to be carrying it. Read this to Jet's "Radio song" if you can; it suits it best I think. I've put the lyrics in anyway.
Disclaimer: I own all the rights to Chicken Run and its production, characters scripts and I gain all the profit for the movies. I also own Jet, in fact, I am a 15 year old chairman of their recording label and I have all rights to each of their songs. Right.
Don't you love the way the rain is beating upon your feathers like a hail of bullets? Don't you love the feeling of guilt tearing at your insides like some sort of manic animal? Do you enjoy the loss of happiness, of acceptance, of hope? The hours you have trudged through this stupid country landscape, not a soul on the road, with only your head to keep you company, little food, and the marvellous knowledge that you have sentenced a mass group to death?
Of corse you do, or you wouldn't have run away, would you?
Take a look
At what I took
A leaf out of everybody's book
We see what you can't see
I'm caught in a trap of my own
Like everybody I know
The acre's ahead of you on this bumpy girl road seem nice enough, covered in green, green, grass a few cows and sheep grazing after the downpour of rain. The backpack on your back is getting heavier and heavier, though there is little in it. Your starving, tired and cold, it feels like each of your feathers have a weight of their own and your so soaked that your rather limp form can be outlined due to the drudge of your plume.
If you were watching yourself walk this road, you would have been at awe at how truly pathetic you seem.
This won't be played on your radio.... tonight
Life hasn't always been easy for you, even you know that. Your dad was a cheating alcoholic, your mother suffered from depression and you haven't seen your brother or sister since the circus took you away. How did they take you away? Ah yes, somehow you wandered into town and bumped into a performance, a bunch of clowns snatched you away for fun and before you knew it you were being carted away in a miniscule cage with a hundred other birds and animals in this freak show.
This won't be played on your radio.... tonightThis won't be played on your radio.... tonight
The first month was hard, you missed your mother, Trixi and Dale, even your Dad who you assumed was glad to see the last of you. Now you shake your head, not wanting to be dragged into that dark stage of your life. Now your thoughts wander to a hen with bright green eyes and red feathers, one of the many you have doomed into death.
Her name? You know her name, although you never called her by it. She hated it, unlike the others who literally fainted if you used one of those cornball sayings. Gradually during your short time with them, you stopped using those names for them, and only for her. They never meant anything to you, but now that she was there, you wanted her to see some truth in those names. You wanted to tell her she was the most beautiful hen you'd ever seen and she wasn't like the others. That she was the colour of red in a sea of grey and white. That you would've been shot out of that cannon 100 times just to see her pretty smile. Most importantly, you wanted to tell her what you felt, what you thought, what you saw, anything to make her realise you were more then some rooster who had exceedingly good looks and irresistible charm.
Perhaps for the first time since you left a smile crept over your face. At least you were still modest.
Somewhere down the road you stopped, could you believe it? A radio. Abandoned by the side of the road, a split down the centre of it, you had left the old one at the farm, not bothering to take it. You're tired; you sit down next to it and twiddle with the buttons until a song comes up. Nothings but static for awhile, when your about to give up music hits your ears. Its orchestra music, it bores you so you switch off mentally until a new song comes on. It's slow, strange music.... Haunting.
Do you all know
Of the emperor's clothes?
Walking down an empty road
We see what you can't see
That's not how I wanna be
Anyhow, everytime, the same dream
You think about the past as your mind drifts to other thoughts, you think of the present and then to the future. You rarely dwell on the future; it's always so far ahead. Until now you've assumed your life would be travel, the circusâ€ pain and misery, dying in a cold steel cage. How many ways you think, are there left for you to die?This won't be played on your radio.... tonight This won't be played on your radio.... tonight This won't be played on your radio.... tonight
The song ends and you rise from your resting place, brushing off wet rain and mud from your feathers.
Do the right thing. That's what your mum had always told you. The words echo in your head. You haven't done the right thing in awhile. Maybe it's time to start. She'll be mad, they'll be mad, you don't want to get started on how ticked the old man will be, but you can't walk away from them like this.
Rocky turned around and headed back the way he came, the song still in his head, although now more of a guide then a haunting.