Amu

Hello- I'm Amy, currently year 11 This is just some quick simple pieces of writing :)

__Eating Dinner word count: 977 __
By Amy L  It was ironic how Dinner was eaten for lunch that day. It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. We sat around the wooden table in the old farmhouse kitchen, staring… staring at our plates, staring at the platters of food in front of us and staring at the sickening sight which perched, marinated, roasted and presented like a prize, on the silver plate. At that moment a man, thin and spare, dressed in an unflattering, dull suit strode in; head held high and cocky with a malicious grin splattered across his chops…

My story really begins in the early hours of that morning, when dusk slowly abated as the promise of a new dawn filled the sky with hope. Strained sunlight splits the weak blue sky as its fingers reach in optimism towards the beckoning crest. The dickey-birds begin to chirrup, energetic and revived, until the tranquility of the morning was disrupted by cold, crisp footsteps that echoed solemnly. My daze disrupted, I searched for the source of this harsh noise. Below my clouded window, I saw a broad figure pacing to-and-fro in the rime of the morning. It was my Papa- up at six and ready to work. My family and I live here, Aisel Estate, a dainty farm in the midst of Lilly River- a little village comprising of two hundred and forty acres of fields yet only four farms. My family- mainly Papa- breeds farm animals to sell onto other farmers. Ensuring that the best traits are passed between generations, both humble and substantial farms praise the qualitative breeds of livestock. Papa began his usual daily routine, scooping up a bucket of slop for the piglets. I beamed and, collecting my wellington-boots and coat, sprinted down the stairs and bumbled outside into the crisp morning atmosphere.

With great rolling hills and fields of green and brown, cattle seem insignificant as they herd under the pine trees edging our property in the far eastern corner, awaiting the rise of the sun. Daisy, our Border collie, ushers the sheep into their pen before loyally returning to her master who had now begun feeding the stock. Papa paused, gazing up at the black shed that haunts the hill on top of which it sits. Never used or entered by us, the black shed glared down on the farm. Previously it had been used to kill and clean the animals which were to be sent to food companies to be packaged before being sent to shops waiting to be brought. I shuddered.

// “Papa, why do we have to put on our Sunday bests when it is Monday?” // I inquired innocently as I slipped my tiny hand into his grimy one.

“//Well, a big, ugly man is coming for lunch today. He will be looking around the farm before wanting some lunch…”// He replied with an equable voice. It was deep but kind, almost tired but hopeful. Papa moved the wooden ramp from the damp floor so it was sloping down from the chicken coop fence before helping me onto it. Arms outstretched like wings I carefully balanced as I made my way into the coop. As we approached the chicken shed, a babble of clucks arose in a cacophonous symphony, abundant with excitement and eagerness. We chuckled in amusement as Papa unlocked the shed. Six beautiful hens and a proud, stanch cockerel sat on their perches like kings and queens on thrones. As we tied open the door to invite the chickens to leave their cozy home, a single gunshot was heard in the distance. The chickens flurried in fear, wings flapping in a fluster and outrageous amounts of upset was vocalized as they fled outside in desperation to attempt escaping from the danger.

// “And that would be Farmer James entertaining his stupid mates- hunting no less.” // Papa cursed under his breath as he watched, irritated by the idiocy of the neighboring farmer’s actions. Meters of the ground the poultry flew around like headless chickens. One hen, prepared for a run up, began to charge at the ramp from which we had entered by. Wings clumsily flapping, feet running in tiny steps when they were in reach of the ramp, the hen scuttled up the slope and over the fence. “//Damn it!”// Papa dropped the egg basket and chased the chicken over the fence. I ran to the top of the ramp, watching in amusement as Papa ran around in circles chasing the chicken. I laughed as he dived for the chicken, missing, of course. Jumping down, I ran to help him. It must have been an hour before we caught it- lured to us with grains. “//Gotcha!”// Papa exclaimed, grabbing the hen by her feet. “//I suppose it would save another hour of running around trying to catch a chicken if I just used you…”// He admired the chicken.

“//Use the chicken for what? Why Dinner? Why not another chicken? What do you need her for?”// I asked in a flurry of questions. Engaged and eager to know more, I tugged at Papa’s shirt, wide eyed and beaming. He looked down at me- chicken in one hand, held by her feet and my hand in his other.

“//Well, that man is coming for lunch and we need something to eat. The… the bank man... Mama will find some vegetables from the veggie patch and we’ll have a roast for lunch with this man.”// His eyes looked sad, surrendering. There were many things that I didn’t understand, this being one of them, but I did know that things were not looking so good… customers had slowed and people wanted less stock. The disease had caused a lot of problems but that was over now… Why was this man coming? What did he want? Why does he want to eat our chicken?