The challenge I'm featuring today is one where the goal was to put a spin on a fairy tale or nursery rhyme.
I chose Chicken Little.
… Or was it that Chicken Little chose me?
Either way, THIS happened.Enjoy!
Farmer Brown’s farm was busy from the crack of dawn to the setting of dusk. The only time it was ever quiet was when the farmer and his family were asleep, so that’s when the animals slept, too. Except for a fluffy yellow chick, that is.
Chicken Little was wide awake. On fast tiny legs, he waddled to the centre of the yard, looking at the vast black sky, peppered with shimmering dots. The full moon hung heavy against the celestial backdrop, bathing the chick in white light. It was otherworldly. He could almost feel the cosmos resonate within him.
A star with a bright long tail blazed across the sky and Chicken Little’s feathers ruffled with excitement. The shooting star became larger and brighter, much to his delight. And much to his surprise, it was speeding towards Farmer Brown’s farm.
He blinked, watching the fiery halo fall to Earth in a peculiar fashion, hovering from side to side, like a boat on the sea. It then stopped mid-air on a dime. Chicken Little tilted his head, confused by the shiny, smooth, and silver appearance of the star. It reminded him of the container Farmer Brown put the horsies in when they had to go somewhere. The old man called it a trailer, but this … wasn’t a trailer.
From the strange object came a beam of light, red and sinister. It fell upon Bully Woolly snoring in the field. He barely had time to moo in confusion before he was turned inside out. The bull quaked for a moment before popping like a water balloon.
Chicken Little gasped!
He turned on his heel and ran into the barn, coming across Henny Penny first. He stirred the old bird from her sleep.
“Henny Penny! Henny Penny! The sky is falling!” The chick reported.
The hen sobered. “Have they come?”
Chicken Little nodded.
“I’ll find Ducky Lucky.” Henny Penny shook herself awake. “Go to Foxey Loxey.”
The little chick tore off one way and the hen the other. He made his way to the henhouse, watching a white beam of light send creatures down from the not-trailer. They were tall, much taller than Farmer Brown. Skinnier. With long limbs, giant heads, and large dark, soulless eyes. This did not bode well.
Chicken Little busted into the henhouse, seeing Foxey Loxey atop the rafters, standing at attention, sleeping birds below. The fox glanced down at the young chick.
“The sky is falling,” Foxey said simply.
“Yes, and the others are aware, sir.”
Foxey nodded. “Let’s join them, shall we?” He hopped down and kneeled, letting the chick onto his back. They bounded into the farmyard, flanked by Henny Penny and Ducky Lucky.
“Like ol’ times, eh?” Ducky Lucky chortled. “They’ve cloaked their ship, I see. Skins, too. Canna see the bastards!”
“Language!” chided Henny.
“Quiet, woman!” The mallard retorted. “This is war!”
Chicken Little hopped off Foxey’s back. “I last saw them disembarking the ship.”
Foxey lifted his nose in the air, inhaling. “They’re here!”
With a crackle of light, a creature de-cloaked. It stared at the farmyard animals with a mixture of curiosity and wickedness, clicking sounds coming from the back of its throat.
Foxey Loxey took a step forward. “Get off my farm, you Andromedian prick.”
The alien blinked, pointing at Foxey, clicking louder, talking over its shoulder nervously as if it were addressing others.
“NOW!” screamed the fox.
“Yessir!” was the resounding cry.
Foxey reared back, his muzzle splitting from his jaw. His bones and teeth exploded with growth, furred skin bunching over muscle and sinew as he morphed into a nine-foot-tall bipedal killer. His once fluffy tail split into several slick tentacles, whipping the air.
Liquid ran down the alien’s leg and that pleased Foxey, for it was too stunned to react to Foxey’s massive jaw at its throat. It slumped once his teeth severed arteries and a thin spinal cord. Foxey’s tentacles whipped around and sank themselves into the gray flesh, siphoning the blood, meat, and bone marrow from within.
Foxey found an interesting mechanical wristband as he fed. He crushed it, suspecting what the device was for. And he was right.
The alien’s cohorts de-cloaked in brilliant white light. They were running away, trying to get back to wherever their ship was. But there was nowhere to run. The others were hungry, too.
Ducky’s green and brown wings had grown enormous. He cut off the crew of grays, flapping his thirty foot wingspan. A gale full of dirt kept the aliens at bay as they raised their hands up to their sensitive eyes. Where Ducky’s head once was were tentacles, and they grabbed a gray. His chest split open, and he shoved the invader inside. It closed with a crunch, sealing in a shrieking morsel.
Henny Penny had become plump, tremendous in size, and ostrich-like with five conjoined heads, all with giant razor-sharp beaks. With great speed, she caught up with a gray, every head screeching as they blinded the alien. Ooze wept from gaping wounds as her beaks pulled the gray into her body. She didn’t have feathers anymore. Instead, they too were tentacles, writhing around their meal.
And then there was Chicken Little. He wasn’t so little anymore. As the others had, he grew, too. His arms and legs were massive, his body brawny and humanoid to make up for the fact he no longer had wings in his true form. He thundered after the final gray, the ground trembling.
The ship flickered back into existence as the final gray approached it. But it was too late. Chicken Little opened his mammoth beak, tentacles ripping from his throat and extending for the alien. They wrapped around the gray, pulling him in. Once he got close enough, Chicken Little ripped his limbs off one by one to make digestion easier.
“That’s what you assholes get!” One of Henny’s head spat out a ball of bones.
Ducky wheezed with laughter. “Couldn’ta said it better m’self!” His talons gripped the side of the ship, and he whirled and whirled, finally releasing the identified flying object. The silver disc warbled out of sight, an interstellar Frisbee to plant in another farmer’s field.
Foxey nodded, lifting a leg and spraying what remained of the gray he savaged with steaming urine. “We were here first, after all. Good work on watch tonight, Chicken Little.”
Chicken Little beamed. “Thank you, sir!”
Then a light illuminated Farmer Brown’s front porch. “What in the hell?!”
Foxey sighed. “We’ll have to knock him out and place him in the moonshine shack again.”