Population Control

Jason III

Catharsis - the process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions.

0o0

It was so early: the sun was rising through the thin trees. Birds twittered with some joy I could only imagine, and they flew with languid freedom. Covering my eyes slightly from the sun, it was even harder to see the Rabids at the fence.

This place is a lot bigger than I originally thought: they have apple trees, a shed, a pathway from the gate to the house, room for a barn, a porch and normal garden space.

"Come on." Leo said to me. That guy has something about him, something with the way he walks and talks that doesn't sit right with me. He's unsettling.

Sitting on the porch swing, he came up to me. "Why?"

"Need to get the eggs." Nothing seems worse to me than holding a chicken in a shit-ridden space. And the smell...

"Ask someone else." I looked at him with distaste, "I'm sure Matthew's free."

Leo shook his head, "Him and the other kid are off who-knows-where, and the tall one with long hair's with Cammy 'n Meghan." Not surprised I was his final choice, because I haven't exactly expressed my likeness for this place. At first, I thought it would be fun! I'd pick a few apples and pears from a tree, play football with Matthew on this picturesque grass. Instead, I've been manually ripping vegetables from the ground getting filthy fingernails and unsanitary hands.

Begrudgingly, I got up and followed Leo to the coop next to the red, worn barn.

They clucked and gurgled and flapped as we walked in, losing some feathers. I jumped away when one got too close. Leo laughed, "If I knew you'd be such a chicken, I'd have found Camille."

"Ha-ha, hilarious." I grimaced, stepping over what I assumed to be chicken shit. There were loads of them everywhere. Nothing like the miniscule, cute little chicken pen my Primary School had. We had two, a white one called Ester, and a black one called Luna. We took turns looking after them, two of us each day, but I would always give my turn to Lucy Sailsbury: she had a way with them, and I didn't want to come between her and those little creatures (she cried in year six when she couldn't take them with her. There was a rumour that she tried to steal one).

(I wonder if she's even alive.)

Easily, Leo strolled over to one and picked it up, like its feathers weren't tough and weird to feel - even thinking about it makes me shiver. Not that it's chickens, nothing personal to them at all, it's just animals in general. They're all messy and leave behind dirt and grime to take care of, and that's not for me. Not at all. Mum and dad brought me a Bengal cat once, when I was around ten, because cats seemed to be easier to look after, as they don't crave as much human attention and my parents really didn't want to spend time with them. But because Charlie wanted a pet and I tagged along with what he said, they brought us the cat. However, I discovered I very much was not a pet person when the cat - that was house trained - pissed on my bed because I may or may have forgotten to feed her...

"I brought you here to help, kid." Leo said, looking up at me as he picked up another egg. "Here." He walked over, carrying a bucket full of poultry feed. "Use it sparingly, don't wanna run out anytime soon." When I was done, I went to wipe my hands on something before realising I had nothing to wipe them on and I definitely was not smothering it into these trousers. Sighing, Leo handed me his shirt tied around his waist to wipe them on.

Before we left the barn, he picked up a chicken. "What are you doing with it?"

"How do you think we eat chicken, lad? It don't grow on trees." He rolled his eyes, walking out. Disturbed, I followed after him inside the house. He went down to the basement, so I went somewhere else.