Prompt: chicken crossed the road. Go.
The chicken stretched her wings and fluffed her feathers. The cool winter breeze crackled along the tarmac, years old by the looks of it, and it was pushing every feather out of place, no matter how she fought. Hopping in a circle, she brought her beak back to the curb, and eyed the trail of maize seeds from the distant pavement to this. There. She’d filled herself on remains, dead crumbs rolled from the backs of behemoths that passed in the night, ever eager to ship their prized cargo to the thousands of hungry human mouths.
But the morsels had contented her, even if they had no more nourished her than the pig slop from the farm down the road.
A further breeze tousled her crown, and this time she let it, relishing the sycophantic nature of the weather on this side of the road. They’d told her, her family, that it wouldn’t be worth the endless plodding. She had shown them, hadn’t she? She’d ducked and weaved and squawked her way through the road-monsters until she, victorious, mounted the other side. Her lane to freedom.