Write a story with me! (Part deux)

It was a surprisingly hot day at the Puyallup Fair when the incident happened. When Charlie Miller made her report to the police later, “incident” was the only word that fit.

She had just finished her third scone, this one dripping with butter and raspberry jam, when the man ran by her, screaming about a crazy post-partum chicken who had just tried to run him over with a disproportionately large tractor. Charlie hadn’t really paid much attention to him–it was the Fair, after all. Over a million people had been expected for this opening day, and Charlie was pretty sure she had seen every single person. Besides, tractors were the norm, and how big could the tractor be?  Chickens were pretty small.

The Fair was jammed with little kids crying for caramel apples and Krusty Pups, people throwing up and teenage boys pretending they hadn’t just been scared out of their minds by the seemingly death-defying rides they had just been on.

But when a second, and then a third person ran past, and the third one was a woman with yolks dripping from her ears, Charlie began to take notice. She hurriedly shoved the rest of the scone into her mouth, took one last drink of ice-cold lemonade, and regretfully passed up the elephant ears booth on her way to make her report.

It was her job, after all. Charlie Miller may have looked like an easy target, standing just 5’1″ in her heels, and not a single, shiny black hair out of place in her elaborate hairdo. And to her kindergarten students, she might have been the beloved teacher who sang to them each morning, and brought homemade cookies for them for snacks, making sure to always have peanut-free and gluten-free treats.

But Charlie Miller’s side job, her real mission, was in her position as Short-Statured Egg  Snatcher. Usually, the chickens didn’t put up much of a fight when Charlie snatched their eggs. But her partner, Nancy “Butterfingers” Lovelace had been on the job earlier. Oh, it wasn’t that Butterfingers was bad at her job, she just was…dexterity-challenged, and Charlie spent a lot of time cleaning up her mess.

Just then, the chicken drove by.  Apparently, tractors can get pretty big–the chicken, dressed in a polka-dot bow, was a speck against the seat of the behemoth that rumbled past, slowly pushing its way through the crowds of people without regard for personal space, or toes.

She clucked as the tractor went past, and the chicken clucked back, an angry demand that she be allowed to roam as chickens were supposed to–high up on their tractor seats.

Charlie gave pursuit. It was the longest, slowest chase she had ever been on. Charlie had time to eat that elephant ear she had been craving, ride the ferris wheel, play an impossible-to-win game, and spin the wheel at the Mountain Mist booth (she won!) before the chicken atop its mammoth tractor had even gone ten feet.

Thanks, Julie, for your ideas! I’m flipping the contest. Now, I nominate Jim Martin to continue this story. The only rule is that the chicken eventually needs to end up by the quilt stands.

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4 thoughts on “Write a story with me! (Part deux)

  1. 1. Postpartum chicken. 2. Disproportionately large tractor. 3. Caramel apples and Kristy Pups. 4. Up. 5. Seemingly death-defying rides. 6. Dripping yolks. 7. Short-Statured Egg-Hatcher Snatcher.
    I think the chicken should lead Charlie on a wild goose chase through the fair, eventually taking a hostage somewhere near the quit display. .

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  2. But that was where Charlie’s luck ran out.

    Before Charlie could finish eating her second elephant ear, an actual elephant came stampeding past her, trailing a number of small shouting men who seemed to be alternatively calling for the huge beast to stop and calling for someone to buy maps of the fairgrounds.

    “Stop! Stop!” yelled the nearest.

    “Maps! Maps!” yelled the shorter one.

    The elephant, apparently not able to read the map stuck in his trunk, feinted a right turn and then swerved left.

    Right into the path of the slowly rolling tractor.

    There was a colossal crash as the pachyderm rammed into the side of the tractor followed by a squawk of outrage from the chicken.

    Things might have gotten ugly at that point – you haven’t seen ugly until you’ve seen a knock down, drag out fight between an enraged chicken and a pachyderm – but the nearer small shouting man finally managed to catch the big animal’s lead rope and regain control.

    The other small man sold a map to Charlie, who didn’t need a map, and quite against her wishes.

    Charlie considered filing a complaint with..someone…but couldn’t get her sticky fingers to work her cell phone correctly.

    The tractor, apparently mortally wounded in its battle, gave a groan of disgust and quit moving.

    The relative silence that followed was interrupted by the angry chicken pecking at the controls and making sounds more appropriate to a mistreated tea kettle.

    Giving the now dead machine one last resentful kick, the chicken looked up and around, seemingly searching for something.

    Charlie felt herself flinch as the crazy bird’s beady eyes swung past her and then flicked back, widening in outrage.

    “Why me?” Charlie muttered. And then she realized that the bird wasn’t staring directly at her, but rather at her hands.

    Testing a theory, Charlie cautiously waved the map, which was still stuck to one hand, up in the air.

    The bird went ballistic.

    Here, we should pause to note the following chicken logic, to wit:

    The chicken was making good its escape, if slowly.
    The elephant took out the chicken’s slow motion getaway car.
    The small shouting men chasing the elephant were selling maps.
    Charlie was waving a map.

    Therefore:

    Charlie was one of the enemy.

    Charlie’s logic train, all of the two cars it included, looked something like this:

    The crazy bird’s eyes had started to glow an eerie red in the lengthing shadows of the big fairgrounds.

    Run!

    The bird launched itself into the air.

    Charlie screamed something incoherent, whirled, and ran for her life.

    Chickens, it turns out, can make a fairly decent speed in a sort of glide / hop / walk way.

    But they don’t have a lot of stamina.

    Charlie was able to duck into the next lane of booths, finish yet another fairground sweet – chocolate covered strawberries this time, and do some updates to her social networks on her cell phone before the end of the chase came.

    Hiding behind a stack of quilts that were being sold for the low, low price of 199.99, she heard a flutter behind her.

    She reflexively ducked and would have rolled, but she still had sticky chocolate on her hands.

    As she turned to face the foul fowl, she knew the worst of her late night fears had come to life.

    The mad eyes of the chicken stared into Charlie’s from about a foot away. And the chicken was holding an electric shock rod that it must have stolen from the fairgrounds security person lying unconscious on the ground.

    Charlie slowly raised her hands above her head and whispered, “Oh, boy!”

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