Jin Quon

First Place: Fiction

“Chicken Blood” 
by Jin Quon
11th grade, Watchung Hills Regional High School

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THE BLADE FELL LIKE THUNDER. There was a sharp chirp, then the immense flapping of wings, then only the howling wind drifting over the snow remained. The bird’s body twitched, kicking its legs as if its own head was still attached, but Jayce simply grabbed the two appendages and lifted the limp corpse by its legs, with the neck dripping warm, steaming blood. Jayce watched the stream of crimson turn into a reserved drippage onto the dirt of the barn, soaking the floor and turning it an eerie black. After a minute or two, the twitching had somewhat halted, save for the occasional spasm of the wings. Seeing the now-limp bird, Jayce turned to the boiler. 

Then, amid the howling wind, a petite but sharp yelp came from the barn door. Startled, he fumbled the chicken out of his hands, which brutally landed on the ground in front of him. Red spattered from the now-frantic body of the beheaded bird, which began to flap its wings violently, flinging feathers all about. The yelp behind him had now begun to scream. Without a second thought, Jayce swiftly equipped the ax he had used previously for the slaughter, jogged over to the tornado of feathers, raised his arms, and plunged his ax into the middle of it. The flapping stopped. Feathers and kicked-up dust began to settle. All that was left was the yelper, who had since gone silent. Breathing heavily, Jayce turned his head toward the door, the bright winter day casting a silhouette around the culprit.

“Ay. You there,” Jayce shouted at the shadow in the door, but to no response. 

Jayce knew who she was, but didn’t know her name. She was the daughter of a USDA agent. She tagged along during business visits to be able to see animals on a farm, or so he had heard. 

“Ay, hello?” Jayce yelled again, walking toward her.  “I’m talking to the person standing in my doorway, yeah? Whatcha’ doin?”

“Why did you do that?” the girl said.

The words stopped Jayce where he stood, and from there he could see the frightened girl. She looked to be no older than he was, in elementary school he guessed. She had flowing blond hair that captured the sun’s rays behind her, with a bread-colored summer’s hat to top it all off. She donned a frilly dress with a tint of turquoise-green, with little specks of red near the bottom. 

“Looks like you got some red on your dress there,” Jayce remarked. “Chicken here sure stirred up a mess, didn’t she?”

“You killed her,” the girl muttered, shifting her body behind the door.

“Mmm,” Jayce said, “but that chicken juice ain’t gonna come out so easy if you don’t get some soap on that stain you got—”

“I saw you,” she said. “You watched the blood drip from her neck. You watched it spill and spill and spill all over the ground. And you didn’t even blink.”

Jayce noticed her sickened glare through the door, as if she were going to cut through him with just her eyes alone. Jayce responded by scratching an itch behind his head. He then turned his attention to the corpse of the chicken.

“Didn’t know you and this chick here were so intimate,” Jayce sneered, turning away. “Pardon me for ruinin’ the honeymoon.”

“Excuse me?” the girl shouted, stomping toward Jayce. “Don’t you feel sorry at all?”

“Sorry for who?” Jayce said.

“What? For Nina!”

“Whendya had the time to name this bird ‘Nina’?” Jayce said.

“This morning. Before you came.”

“Been here all day, huh? Muckin’ about on my farm. And her name’s Bernice, speakin’ of which. Don’t go namin’ my chicks.”

The girl stumbled back and tripped over her own feet, landing on the ground beneath her. Her eyes were wide and unblinking.

“Ay, you’re ruinin’ that dress of yours!” Jayce said, walking over to the girl to offer her a hand.

“You gave her a name? And for what?” she said under shaky breaths. “You have her blood on your hands. How are you going to wash that stain from your memory? The gushing red blood running from her chopped-off head?”

“Stain?” Jayce said. “I assure you I’m feelin’ great. It ain’t as if I gutted the poor thing while it was alive. It ain’t like I boiled it while it was moving about! I treated that bird as best a bird could be treated. And when the time came when she wasn’t laying any more eggs and she got up there in age, we simply made use of what she had. I slaughtered a bird. What about stains? Blood? There ain’t a thing about it. But I’m sure your daddy is gonna be sore about that bird and mud on your dress.”

She stared up at him, flabbergasted, then she hung her head.

“I don’t care about this stupid dress,” she muttered into her arms.

Jayce retracted his hand. After a pause, he shrugged, then walked over to the mess of feathers and bird meat. Kneeling down, he saw that he had made a clean cut to more of the neck, which was much better than if he’d cut the belly open. Then the chicken would have been wasted by now.

“Would you kill a person?” she whispered under her tears.

Jayce stopped his inspection. He reared his head back to the girl.

“People ain’t food,” he replied.

She got up on her feet shakily. The girl brushed the sod off her dress and walked away from Jayce and out the door.

“Our blood is just as red as chickens, if you didn’t know,” she said, almost whispering.

Jayce watched her leave, and heard her footsteps slowly morph into a run, far away from the barn. He was only left with the soaring wind whistling through the barren trees outside and his own cold breath.