The sound of metal brushing against the rocky, purple soil, a sound that I have endured my entire life, or at least the bits I remember. I swing my hoe up and down, making holes in the dirt, polluted with smog from our foolish industrial revolution. We were once so great, the human race I mean, ruling the world, and making machines of unrivalled power. But now we are imprisoned on these fields, with just me and my comrades, no- comrade, stuck ploughing the fields, planting wheat, then harvesting it. At one point, there were hundreds of us working these dangerous fields, but even after so many years after our failed rebellion, the rich still slaughtered us like a herd of insignificant cattle. This left the mountain fields to only be filled with two men, me and my friend, Ivor, a great guy, the best alive man I know.
“Those arrogant sons of bitches, they act so tough but kneel whenever those hideous chickens are involved” Ivor says, talking as foully as always, no filter to be found. “Can they not give us a break? We slave away to grow these fields to feed their asses while they cannot so much as fold their clothes without making one of their servants do it for them. How did they ever stay in power? I cannot be the only one to think this right, Eden? Maybe we could band together with the miners and try to revolt again-”
“No, I am not letting any more of my comrades die in a pointless revolution,” I say, cutting him off before he gets any more ideas, ideas that could doom us, and any other we could hope to recruit. “You recall the revolution as clear as day, do you not? I know I do. Of course, I do, I was the son of the 'Hero of the Common Folk', the failed rebel, the swine of a man that was my father. He got everyone killed trying to fight against those in luxury!” I shout out, losing my breath and composure from the thoughts of my old man. But after a bit of time, I continue my prior thought, with more composure of course. “He underestimated those Aliens backing the pigs up, thinking he could best them with only knowing a weakness. But many died from that foolish idea, and how many more men have to die before you realize that we are powerless to the rich, Ivor? I know my father was a hero to you, but please, do not fall into the devil's trap once more. We have already lost enough. I mean, we only have these old potato rags for clothes and hay for a bed!” I plead; an attempt to persuade my only companion left here. “Now come on, grab the food you collected. The Overseers are about to show up.” I say, hoping Ivor will stay down with the knowledge of those bastard Overseers. Those foul rich bastards who knelt over to the chickens when they invaded. They gave up their humanity, and made a symbol to show that; wearing a black robe that covered their entire body, and a muffler-looking dog nose object on their faces, covering their mouths. I am not sure why they would ever work for those damned birds, or even why they would need the Overseers. As much as I hate them, I know how strong they are.
“Alright, alright, Eden. But do not think I am going to submit without anything in return.” Ivor mutters in concession. He decides to sneak some of the wheat he harvested into his ragged clothes, much to my dismay.
“Why are you trying to smuggle that wheat? We cannot even use it-” I cough abruptly, cutting myself off. “Damn this smog is bad, it still survives, even with the world out of oil to burn it longer.” I slowly raise myself, stumbling a bit from the bitter cold. “I should grab the chickens and bring them inside. Put the wheat back before they find you out. No matter how good you are at hiding, those feathered hounds will always find anything out of the ordinary.” I tell Ivor, who has a spiteful look on his face. I do not care though, or at least support it. After all, he knows that they will find it, as Ivor is not all that good at hiding things. But he must know there is no point in protest, as it will never work on those with no humanity. Protest. A word that caused so many to die, all because we tried to fight for this so-called freedom... How is freedom more important than your own life.? Why can we not just settle for less instead of wanting for more.? I think about these points over and over again, like a buzzing metronome in my head as I go get the chickens. Those aliens want to destroy all hope we have left. It really is a sick idea to make us raise the very creatures that killed our families, but us cogs do not get to argue with the makers of the machine.
The feathery pests are dispersed all across our field, rolling around in the grimy purple muck the Overseers call “farmland”. Some chickens obediently follow me while others try to bite and scratch me. “Fuck- who thought up chickens with tiger claws?” Who is so twisted that they needed to go that far to torture us,” I ask myself.
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“That would have been my idea.” The Overseer, who had been secretly watching me, says. “But maybe you are right, we should have added paralysing venom to truly punish you filthy mongrels. Do you like that idea, oh so great son of the hero?” the Overseer mocks. “Hahaha- Do not worry, you will never see anything like that on these fields, so rest assured, we have other uses for you and the thief.” As he says that, I saw my only friend being dragged across the ground by another Overseer, defiling his clothes even further. What the hell, Ivor. I said do not try to steal. I thought you knew better. He is being cuffed with the famous 'Rebel Chains'. They are like any other pair of handcuffs, but are spiked with hot iron to pierce and burn your skin, similar to the use-case of a branding iron.
“Hey! Let me go, you ugly bastard!” Ivor screams at the Overseer. “So what, I took some of the crops I harvested? Why should I have to give you the fruits of my labour?” The Overseer, now smiling, pulls out another one of the Rebel Chains and forcefully puts them onto my hands. I shriek out in pain, flailing about the ground. The steel burns, no- melts through my skin, as my flesh binds with it. The searing pain fills my mind. I cannot move. I cannot talk. I cannot even think.
“Oh you do not have to give us your harvest any more you rodents. You have hereby been discarded by the Great chicken Lords, and are to be sent as tribute to atone for your sins.” The Overseer declares in a booming voice, contrary to how he was speaking before. Right before I lose the battle against these flames, I see an egg-shaped UFO in my peripheral vision. It is embroidered with cream-white feathers. It flies down to us and picks us up with a green beam, almost resembling a quasar. Ivor and I are suddenly teleported inside the UFO. I, disoriented, realize that the pain has dissipated. There are 3 of the chicken aliens who enslaved our people. I thought I was tall, but I guess the damn aliens should not really be compared to 'mere humans'. Their sharp talons could easily rip apart even the largest creatures on earth. And their hands... they are the size of an elite wrestler. No, no, they are even bigger than any human hands. Right on their arms is a massive set of wings that allowed the aliens to take over the skies. Their glare is debilitating, so much so that Ivor and I are not even able to move. Their petrifying stare is like a stake in our chests. While we are stuck in place, the Overseers bow down to their chicken Overlords.
“We bow to the great overlords for letting us foolish mortals live. We have brought you the thief and the son of the rebel.” The Overseers tell the chickens in submission. “We hope these insects please you and are good enough for sacrifice, although we believe one of them is unworthy of being blessed with the honour of being killed by you.” he points at Ivor. “This one fits little with your preferred looks, both short, fat, and disgustingly old, while the rebel is a rough 30-year-old from the foolish land known as America, right next to their old capital in Pennsylvania, the land you great ones have made your capital.” The chickens start talking in a language incomprehensible to us humans, though the Overseers seem surprised by their words. I can see the sparks of protest in Ivor's eyes once again, but, in a blink of an eye, his guts start spewing out of his chest and his ribs are ripped out by one of the chickens. The chicken then rips his head open, spewing the brain matter of my closest and only friend, Ivor, all over the room. I want to scream, but I am unable to because of the sheer terror brought by the chicken's wrath. The chicken, covered in blood, makes an odd sound before suddenly speaking English.
“This is much better, but the boy would have been ill fit to become a sacrifice, unlike you.” The chicken says in a squawking voice. “You shall become the next sacrifice for our ritual. Overseers; send him to the dungeon!” As the chicken says that, the two Overseers grab both of my arms and start to drag me across the floor.
I try to rip myself out of their grasp, but stop myself. I must not end up like Ivor... Before I get taken out of the room, I ask one question to the chicken. “Why? Why must they do this to us? We never did anything to deserve this, so why must you torment me and my people?”
The chicken, with a cold but amused laugh, says in response, “Because it is fun to watch your race struggle. You fought so hard, which makes it so much more fun to see you struggle and fail. So let me give you one last reminder of what you have lost.” The chicken remarks, as he picks up one of the broken ribs of Ivor and throws it at me. The bone pierces my leg, giving great pain, both mentally and physically. The pain is unbearable. Gritting my teeth to resist is pointless. My body motions to scream out in pain, but my psyche does not allow it out of fear of death. I finally submit, as the Overseers bring me to my final home.
