Death Of A Rubber Chicken (JackRubashevskiy)

It was a wretched creature, a disgusting thing. Smooth skin free of feathers, bright colours proclaiming the danger it posed.

"Bring me the axe," he spat. His son obeyed, handing the shining axe to his father. The wooden handle was evenly notched, a tally of the man's conquests.

"Son," the father said, looking into the young boy's eyes. "I need you to hold the beast down, alright? My blow must be sure, it cannot miss it's neck!"

The boy gulped and nodded. With trembling hands he held the bird steady.

Swish. Thump. The bird died with a clownish squeal.

The End

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