She walks along the sun a-shining, while she passes a couple picnic-dining.
She smiles at the heatwave glory and thinks about
her favourite story.
She imagined herself slaying dragons and walking
down a country road behind the farmers
wagons as she whistles her childhood lullaby and
smiles at the butterfly which lands on her shoulder.
"The end is nigh," it says. But that
voice was not in her head, that voice was right beside where she tread.
She glances down and stops in her tracks. She huffs
and puffs, knowing she won't be able to relax until she learns what this
creature has to say.
It looks at her with sass and sits upon the grass,
crossing its tiny insect legs and starts talking about a magic egg.
It says it's somewhere in the forest just to our
right, it says it needs to be found before tonight.
It told her to follow close behind, she does as
she's told as wonders if she's lost her mind. It stops above a dried up wishing
well, where they find a bit of eggshell.
"No. No. No!" It cries as it believes the
egg has died. She asks if it knows what an egg actually is, it says it's only
met the one and that one is this.
It wonders if it could have fallen down, it asks
her to check which she returns with a frown. You see, she had no rope nor torch
and now she remembers she left her phone on the porch.
It begs and begs until she agreed, how could she
refuse this cute colourful breed?
It grinned and kissed her cheek as she leaned over
the hole to have a peek.
But the little prick was just a muse as it flew
behind her and then grew. It used its bulging leg
muscles to kick her in. She screamed until she
stopped and died within.
The prick laughed and its son appeared from behind
a tree, it flew down beside him, a day-old chick; and laughed in glee.
Now the monster was still and dead, and she can no
longer have Kentucky fried chicken in white bread.
The butterfly found the chick last night and said
he will slay its mother's killer tonight.
Now they start their killing spree of humans who
eat its sons’ relatives with glee. They'll start
now with the white bearded killer: they'll chuck
him in his personal meat chiller.
And now you know what will succumb to those who
don't care of the outcome. That is why they now look so glum, because there's
no more fried chicken for them to chew upon.
