The First Time I Killed A Chicken, I Had a Dream About It - Part 2

So I chose to be a killer. After all, there's a first time for everything even if Mum only realised after I had goofed picking up the chicken and contemplating to finish the job.

This chicken was huge, I have to say again. And it took me holding the wings while trying to find my balance from the erratic movement of the chicken, while mum held down the legs. I still had my doubts that this bird wasn't all meat though.

I held the head, just as Mum had instructed, and put the knife through the neck. Without hesitating or second-guessing, I started cutting. Mum kept telling me to make sure to cut the neck all the way through till I'm past the bone so we would not have a case of Miracle Mike. 

As I got to the bone, I thought I had finished the task and I decided to relax. Suddenly, the chicken started shaking vigorously and there was a gush of blood flowing like water from a broken pipe. Now I could really feel the life leaving the chicken.

When the shaking stopped, Mum told me to wait another minute to be sure it was dead while she covered up the hole she had dug for the blood. It was then I saw the blood of the chicken on my toes and some on my nails. Thus, I had officially become a killer.

Straight to the kitchen, a large pot of water was already at its boiling point, and we went to work. Mum did the most part though. What do I know about cutting up chicken in the first place? She de-feathered, while I went to clean the blood off my feet. When I came back, we cut up the chicken into parts and to my surprise, the only fat in the chicken was the necessary one. All I could see was meat. Chicken meat.

After the cutting, the pieces of this chicken I had killed almost filled a 20-litre (5gal) cooking pot. I was impressed with myself. I killed this whole animal. I could almost feel my real testicles dropping since the ones there before I killed the chicken wanted to embarrass my lineage. But, Mercy Said No!

It was late into the night when we finished with the chicken and it was past dinner time. Mum was worried about showing proper love for our health and especially our belly fat. Me? I'm not a man of a preacher of love... Moreso, I felt the need to reward myself for a job well done.

I made my dinner and Mum added a huge piece of the chicken to my meal. I did feel like the man of the hour. This chicken was juicy. Every bite felt proper and deserved. It wasn't too hard or too soft, just the proper tenderness. At this time I had forgotten I was worried about taking the life of a chicken.

Well, not until I went to bed.

You know how dreams are without an introduction as to why we are here or what we did to get there, just absolute randomness. This was a typical one as well. I didn't know how I found myself there, but I was just staring at this chicken, and something about this chicken felt familiar. 

Yes! It was the chicken I killed!

Cut up just as we did in real life. But, what was the chicken doing in my dream? Well, only one way to find out. And yes, it tasted just as juicy and tender as it did when I ate it earlier.

The next day, I woke up with a smile on my face and made sure not to tell my mum that I had eaten another piece of our chicken in dreamland... lest I flush it down with a gallon of anointing oil.