Everyone Chickens Out

Everyone Chickens Out was first published in Cicada

Why does the smallest disruption destroy me? I had considered myself a non-innocent child still when I went through the whole ritual. I saw the blades, ran around the house while my parents stood watching, then succumbed to the pincers in my father’s right[eous] hand. He said everyone chickens out when it comes to plucking feathers, thinking it would put me at ease, or so I thought, or so I retain benevolently in my memory. Maman stood aside, a passive witness—was that a look of worry?—without ever weeping. If only I knew what I knew today I would have wept shamelessly, as one last rebellious stance against destruction. Why are you doing this? It never struck me to ask. I simply knew there were stages to this: 1. Intuiting 2. Anticipating 3. Running 4. Succumbing 5. Becoming a fucking earthling. In elementary school kids swore to seal a promise but here we swear to vent the spleen, instead of shouting: THIS WORLD IS FUCKING CRAZY, AND I WANT OUT.

When the deed is done, and the drama plays on TV, we’re one close-knit, happy family, sitting around the living room, basking in the sunshine of adulthood.