Author: some random gal PM
Not the most inventive title, I know. the whole of Chicken Run, through Rocky's eyes. His thoughts and feelings.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Romance/Humor - Chapters: 8 - Words: 12,846 - Reviews: 10 - Favs: 9 - Follows: 2 - Updated: 02-19-13 - Published: 04-05-11 - id: 6881034
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Ok! Half way to the story we finally are! I started to watch Chicken Run again. I love the special feature on the making of Chicken Run. It almost makes me want to do Claymation. ^^ We are almost to the dance part? Everyone looking forward to it? It's my favourite part in the whole thing. That, and it's the time when the GingerXRocky began to form^^. Anyway! Enough of pointless rambling. Go ahead and read.
P.S: Thank you Catfreaklol for your review. I saw you wrote a Chicken Run story because you were inspired^^ I feel very warmed that it was me that inspired you! I hope you do well in your story! I'd review but the computer won't open the review box=3=
Warning of mentions of animal abuse.
Rooster Run 8
I made what I could best call a giant slingshot. I nailed two nails into the ground and attached the stretchy belt to it. I then nailed another nail behind it where I attached a rope to it, connecting it to a cart. I felt rather proud of my work when I finished. This was the most work I've done since cleaning all the soot and ash off my feathers.
Bunty had kindly offered to be the first one to try out what I called a "thrust exercise". Ginger stood next to me giving me expectant glares which made me realise this could be my last chance. It didn't help my case either that those stupid rats were back again, setting up an egg carton stand on the side, laughing as the cart was pulled back.
"The tension's killing me!" Fletcher called out.
"It's gonna kill her!" Nick added and they both fell into fits of laughter. They were like this all throughout the day after they gave me their stuff. It even eventually made Bunty nervous. So I gave her the helmet as a precaution.
"Release!" I yelled and Bunty shot past us in a blur. She zoomed past the rats and began to flap her wings as the witnessing chickens, Ginger included, began to cheer her on. For a moment, I stared at it all and I was suddenly reminded on my circus, the way the crowds would cheer whenever I was shot out of the cannon. Yet somehow, as I watched them cheer louder and even wave their wings around a bit when the cart reached the ropes limit and flung Bunty across the farm, there was something different about them compared to my audience. At first I couldn't put my finger, or feather in my case, on it.
Suddenly, there was a loud grunt from the other side of the farm which prompted a groan from the chicken audience. I snapped my head around and realised I made a miscalculation in my little sling shot device. Bunty was flung across the farm in the illusion she was actually flying, just like my cannon. However, Bunty couldn't turn while in the air, so she shot straight across the farm, and smacked into the fence. She rebounded and flew into the air, losing her helmet. The rats jeered and laughed and I would've loved to go over and smack them myself, just as Bunty landed bullseye on top of them. Their laughing quickly turned into terrified screaming as there was collision with a satisfying thud, though of course, not for Bunty's sake. The egg carton stand they were sitting on rolled across the farm from the impact towards us and the crowd. Don't worry, we promptly side stepped which, unfortunately for them, meant they crashed into the chicken sheds behind us. Ginger turned to me to gaze at me with an unamused look, and we both cringed as the group crashed into another shed.
I knew that look. It didn't mean good news. I gulped.
"Opps." I said lightly with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. Before I could mention that at least the rats finally got what they deserved, a sudden shrill noise pierced the air.
I have to say the reaction was very remarkable. Every chicken, including stiff-feathered Ginger, tensed. Suddenly they are started shrieking and running around. Babs came over to Ginger and started fretting about something, but I didn't care enough at the time to listen. I just stared at all the chickens as they began to assemble into a row like soldiers, looking anxiously and fearfully at the gate fence. Seeing how much they changed from the cheering crowd to a terrified flock, I realised just how serious this was.
"Hide me." I whispered to Ginger. However, she either didn't hear me over the desperate squawking or ignored me. She looked worriedly at Babs who was clutching her knitting needles so tightly they rattled and she even dropped a few stitches. Babs never dropped stitches. She goes ballistic when she drops stitches and right now Babs was still trembling for her own dear life. This is definitely not good news, as I glance at the farmers coming out of their house.
"Hide me!" I say more desperately. Ginger, however, turned sharply at me and gave me an impatient glare.
"Hide yourself!" She snapped before scurrying off to go in line. I stared after her before shrugging it off. Fine, I was going to bolt anyway. I took a quick scan of the farm and spotted a large metal watering leaning against a hut. Disregarding that it could possibly mess up my beautiful tail, I scampered over and jumped inside, tucking up into a ball again. It stank and the metal was slightly rusted, and it was nowhere near comfortable as I already was starting to feel cramps. Suddenly, as I sat squatted in the watering can, I suddenly felt something. It came intense and burning hot before I could stop it.
I felt angry.
What the hell was I doing here? I escaped the circus looking for freedom, to finally live a life for myself, to do things for myself, and no longer for the benefit and satisfaction of others. How many years have I been stuffed and shot out of a cannon to satisfy strangers so they could pay my stupid masters? Don't I deserve a little slack? Maybe even retirement, I did my part. I'm done satisfying an audience, people. Now I'm here after escaping trying to satisfy these stupid chicks that don't even know that chickens can't fly! I thought of them all cheering before and I felt disgusted. How dare they force me to stay here after all I've been through! I don't owe them anything! They were no different than every audience that cheered at my misery!
"STOP IT!" I suddenly heard a shriek which sounded distinctly like Ginger. I blinked and paused listening for what happened next. Aside from further faint murmuring which sounded like Ginger talking to them, there was no other noise.
Odd. The whole flock is outside. What's going on?
I peeked up over the rim of the can. The farmers were inside now and the whole flock was over an overturned trough of feed. Ok, they were getting fed. So? Why were the flock staring, fixated, at Ginger who was standing on the trough looking like she was trying to convince them not to eat? Can they not eat now?
Well, the last two sentences I heard her say pretty much summed it up.
"Don't you see what's happening?" She said, addressing her audience. "They're fattening us up." She turned, her dark green eyes sweeping every chicken with an intense, near ominous look. "They're going to kill us all!"
Whoa, she had as much tact as an executioner wielding an axe, as all the chicks, if possible, paled and gulped down their current mouthful of feed heavily. I climbed out of the watering can and approached the flock with my wings up in a comforting gesture.
"Whoa! Heavy alert!" I laughed, trying to lighten the mood as all the chicks turned to stare at me. I tried my best to ignore to ignore their haunted stares. I had enough of that from the old timers in the circus. I grabbed Ginger and pulled her off the trough. "She didn't mean it, girls." I called back over my shoulder. I gave a hasty grin to the chicken closest to me. "Keep eating. Save some for me." I ignored Gingers protests and slaps, which are actually quite painful. She is one tough chick.
I finally steered her around the corner and into an empty hut where she promptly breaks out of my grip.
"Let go of me!" She snaps. Normally I'd pull a cool wisecrack here, but I was still slightly angry from inside the watering can.
"Listen!" I snapped back, exasperated with her behaviour. "I've seen some hard-boiled eggs in my day but I'd say you're about… twenty minutes!"
"And what's that supposed to mean?" She replied coolly. My exasperation flared more.
"It means you gotta lighten up!" I replied. Yeah Ginger. Heard of it? "You see," I started, pacing around her. "Over in America, we have this rule. If you want to motivate someone," I turn to her sharply, hoping to maybe make her understand. "Don't. Mention. Death!" However, Ginger merely scoffed at the idea.
"Funny." She said, as she suddenly fixed an accusatory glare at me. "Over here, the rule is 'Always tell the truth'." I instantly knew what she was referring to, but I didn't quite see how it would help her argument. I gave a small white lie and it got me what I wanted to attempt to help her. She told the truth and most of the chicks look paralysed with dread, like a panther that just realised the jumping ring was on fire at the last minute.
"Oh yeah, that's been working like a real charm, hasn't it?" I replied back with the same accusatory tone. I decided to give her a bit of charity, since she's been so 'kindly' helping my own situation. "Let me give you some advice." I said, taking a step toward her so we were only a small distance apart. "You want them to perform? Tell them what you want to hear." Like they told all us animals every single show. You'll be fine. You're in good hands. Even when we saw the dangers and knew what was coming, we'd follow like strays. In a way, that's what we were.
However, Ginger didn't take to my imparted wisdom as she merely gave me a scalding scowl.
"You mean lie!" She spat, looking like she wanted to peck my eyes out, before storming out of the hut. I gave an exasperated, irritated sigh as I begrudgingly followed her. Here we go again.
"You know what the problem is?" I called to her as she began to walk away. "You're-" I searched for the perfect word to describe her, but, much to my subconscious disapproval, I couldn't do anything but mimic what my ringmaster said. "Difficult!"
"You don't need to tell them what's really happening." The ringmaster said to the other workers. "They are just dumb animals, no need to make them or the job any more difficult."
"Why because I'm honest?" She retorted. I cringed as the stab hit close to home. She let out a grunt as she presses her fingers briefly to her temple, as if staving off a headache caused by me. Tch, should be the other way round. "I care about what happens to them! Something I don't expect a LONE FREE RANGER to know anything about!"
The whip lashed again and again close to the feet of a newcomer dog that joined the circus. The dog whined, terrified, and backed again with its tail between its legs, but the ringmaster was relentless as he tried to urge it to jump through the hoop. One lash made contract with its paw and it yelped loudly, but the man showed no sympathy, shouting profanities at the poor creature.
I spared the dog but a brief glance. But he huffed and turned back to his miniscule dinner.
Stupid animal, Rocky thought. He should know better than to not listen.
I forced down the burning shame that rose in my throat. I paused for the split second, trying to find anything to counter with, to defend myself, but I found that I had none. So, feeling cornered, all I could do was lash.
"Well, if that's the way you show it, I hope you never care about me!" I shouted. Ginger wasted no time shouting back with such assurance I almost felt hurt.
"I can assure you, I never will!" Well!
I spun on my heels and stormed off, but the anger wasn't as strong, no matter how much I wanted to hold onto it. I want to stay angry. I don't want to stay here. I want to stay angry as so when I leave, I'll feel glad about it. I want to get away from the selfish audience of chickens, who only knew how to be happy when benefiting from someone else's efforts, with Ginger as their ring leader. I clung to that belief, I clung tightly as I approached the edge of the hut and went to turn the corner.
I saw, and I gasped.
The group of chickens have depleted immensely, so many had retreated to their huts, the shut doors giving off a really sad vibe. Some lingered in their doorways, leaning against the frames, unable to drag themselves inside, as if their nests weren't their refuge anymore. If I had to describe 'at death's door', this is probably what I'm looking at. The Scottish chicken, Mac, leaned against a pole and was playing on a harmonica she had pulled out, most likely some Scottish sound that sounded sad and woeful. Even steel-feathered Bunty sat on the overturned trough, gazing at the chicken feed in her wing before letting it slip off her palm, the haunted eyes that everyone else had gazing at the grains join the large pile without a spark of care, clearly not hungry anymore.
Then there was Babs, sweet cheerful Babs, who was usually oblivious to the world. She was also sitting on the pile, knitting as she always is. But her needles didn't move with their usual fervour, the clicking almost sounding like a ticking clock. She stopped as she finished her stitch and held up her new creation, and she slumped as she viewed her knitted noose. The needles slipped out of her wing and clattered near inaudible on the pile of chicken feed.
It hurt to watch. It was even more painful than a booing audience.
It was then that I realised why they were so different. They were not an audience. In fact, I now see they were far from it.
They were a flock, a flock of chickens searching for hope. I wasn't a source of entertainment. I was the source of their hope.
They were cheering because they thought they could finally achieve a better life, a life without counting down the days. Without forced labour, a life where they could finally take control of their own lives, and not by someone who takes care of them for their own benefit.
I finally see how, that they wanted freedom, the same way I wanted it.
They weren't the selfish ones, I was. Ginger, for once I was willing to admit, was right. I never cared.
I sighed heavily, the shame rising again in my throat, but I pushed it down. There was no more time for shame anymore. I gripped the corner of the hut, glancing again at the woeful flock and nodded my head in resolve before turning away.
Just because Ginger was right, doesn't mean I can't make her wrong. As I approached the rats, I suddenly felt like that was my resolve. I would prove her wrong. That I could be more than a Lone Free Ranger.
For once, I had enough of haunted eyes, and enough of myself. I was going to change, and make Ginger say she was wrong.
…I once saw a monkey circus in a foreign place. The monkeys did amazing things; they rode tricycles, balanced on balls and I think I vaguely remember them making a pyramid. But amongst all that, I remember clearly the ring master, constantly whipping with his whip for them to go faster, and dragging them around with a cane like they were objects. As amazing as the tricks they did, I couldn't enjoy it as well as I could. So I walked away, only feeling regret that I couldn't do anything for them.
I'm sorry if the scene of animal abuse was disturbing to some people. I definitely know it was disturbing to me. Always say no to it and never support it. No life should ever have to life like that.
…But I still hate insects and will kill them on sight. Sorry.
I'm also so sorry for taking so long! I promise I'll strive to get better. But I hope to get faster as this scene was actually the hardest to type as barely anything goes on that allows me to add some character development and I didn't want to just describe what happened in the scene when you can just go off and watcht eh movie yourselves. I hope this chapter was as deep as the other chapters before it. I look forward to typing the dance scene.
PS: Thank you all who reviewed and that one person who personally messaged me. You all are loved!^^