Flash Fiction: Feelin’ Chicken

It’s that time again. It’s time for Chuck Wendig’s Friday Flash Fiction Challenge. It’s another song shuffle flash fiction and after being given ‘Needledick’ by Placebo last time (read it here) I was a bit nervous about which track I would be given this time. It wasn’t so bad, I was given ‘Feelin’ Chicken’ by ohGr.

The rules shouldn’t be unfamiliar to you now. I have 1000 word’s to write a piece of flash fiction using that title.

Please leave a comment, especially if you think you know where the ‘Feelin’ Chicken’ part comes in with this story.

So here we go…

‘Feelin’ Chicken’

Nobody had seen the invaders, they’d just happened. Nobody had chance to fight; nobody had a chance to escape. The entire planet fell asleep, and were taken while they slept. That had been years ago, or at least it had felt like that to Steve. It was long enough for the screams of the other inmates to disappear, leaving only silence.

Steve stared at the cell opposite through his thick glass cell window. The cells were no larger than a coffin, and they smelled of old cabbage and copper. His hands, neck and ankles were restrained, he couldn’t move enough to struggle or try and escape. Despite being a prisoner, the captors had never physically hurt him; he had been fed and exercised three times a day. Although this was all done by way of a fine mist spray that soaked him in his cell.

His mind hadn’t given up though; the only thing that kept him sane was the image he held on to of his family and his home. A tear fell from his eye; Steve lapped it off his face just for the experience of tasting something salty.

<Click>

The door of his room opened, and his restraints flicked open. Steve started falling forwards, his arms instinctively reached forward to cushion his blow. Steve was weak and couldn’t move very much, but even face down on the cold metal floor he was acutely aware that he was out of his cell and he couldn’t hear anything. Steve stood up, his joints cracked and his muscles strained from not being used.

He looked around, his eyes straining from the yellow over-head lights. He was in a corridor; a dead-end behind him, and a metal door in front him. The side of the corridor was lined with cells like his. The doors were all open but there was no sign of anyone else. Had they all escaped? Was he the only one left? He hadn’t seen or heard anything. Was he the only one that had been taken?

Steve stumbled his way towards the metal door, his legs struggling to make him move. The metal door in front of him was ajar. He gently pushed on the door. It opened silently, and easily and Steve walked through.

The room was large; the lights overhead flickered while loud speakers in the corners of the room screeched static into the room causing Steve to wince. Plastic chairs lay upturned, paper littered the floor and discarded bags and clothes had been strewn about. What the hell has happened here? Had everyone escaped? Has there been some sort of rebellion? Why had he been left? No, he couldn’t focus on that now, he had to escape. He heard a door slam from the corner of the room. He moved through the broken furniture and ran towards the door. He pushed on the door and it moved, only slightly but it did move. As he pushed the door resisted, it felt as if someone or something was pushing on the door from the other side and whatever it was it was stronger than him. The door slammed shut.

Steve put his ear to the door. Through the cold, riveted metal of the door he heard something; it was the sound of male laughter. The laugh was so familiar to him, but at the same time distant and alien. Was the laughter mocking him? Steve pushed back on to the door and this time it opened.

He was now in a corridor, a long featureless corridor. It was little more than a large metal tube with a door at the end; a door with someone standing in front of it. Steve couldn’t see the figure very well through the bright lights, but it was wearing a dark robe and hood that completely covered its face.

The figure scurried off, opening the door behind it and running through it. Steve chased the figure through room after room and corridor after corridor of shining metal walls, bright lights and alien symbols. The robed figure ran through door after door but Steve was catching up with him.  Steve reached another metal door; this one was much bigger than any of the others and it had a large metal wheel in the centre of it.  Grasping the wheel with both hands, put all his strength into turning it. With the sound of grating metal, the door opened. A bright light, forced Steve’s eyes closed. He reached forward with one hand and walked through the door.

The first things Steve felt was warmth on his skin and cold air in his lungs. His eyes watered and stung, but he forced himself to open them. At first all he could see was a merge of bright colours; greens, blues and yellows.  But then the coloured blurs started to make sense. He started to see things, the green grass, the blue sky, a corn field blowing in the wind. He could see everything, it was his home and it was exactly how he remembered it. People bustled through the streets, cars raced through the streets, honking their horns.

The robed figure stood in front of Steve and watched him. His face remained hidden.

‘Who are you? What happened to me?’ Steve asked.

The robed figure didn’t move; slowly he raised a gloved hand and pointed to behind Steve. Steve turned around and saw that the metal doorway had gone; it had all gone. In that one instant Steve knew. Steve stood still, mortified and closed his eyes as a fine misty rain fell on to his face.

Steve opened his eyes again; back in the confining walls of his cell. The mist that fed him and kept him alive splashed on his face, joining with his tears.