//------------------------------// // Chapter 3: Chicken in the Grass // Story: My Daily Dose of Carotene // by Stillmatic //------------------------------// My Daily Dose of Carotene Chapter 3: Chicken in the Grass By: Stillmatic Take note, youngins, there’s a method and a way to living life with the same amount of exceptional security as I did. When you’re threatened with a situation that puts yourself and work in jeopardy, action and planning was an absolute requirement. Why? Because without that, you’re another chicken clucking around and waiting for your head to get chopped off by your enemies. Now, I know what you’re thinking, that you probably don’t have enemies with the capacity to ruin your life... Wrong. Everyone is your enemy in life. But the ones that are the most pronounced are the ones that supposedly protect you. Of course, I’m talking about law enforcement, police, Interpol, et cetera. Don’t get me wrong, they do a lot of right, but those right actions stifle my wrongdoings, and I don’t like that one bit. So now that I’ve established that, I’ll explain how this all ties together. You see, and I’ll say this again, when you’re presented with a situation that can harm you or waste your time somehow, it’s best to gut it like a fish and rip out the intestines like the evidence it is. That way, no one can pin anything on you and it’ll be like there was never a crime in the first place. It’s dangerous, but worth it. That’s what I was doing now as I walked steadily back to the forest, trying to remain inconspicuous as I decided to get rid of the bodies from earlier. Obviously, killing was a really big no-no here, so I’d need to clean up a little so cops couldn’t charge me and force me to go through some elongated pre-trial, trial, sentencing bullshit. Yeah, the court system is interesting as hell, but only if you’re not on the receiving end. So, as I got into the tree line, this time looking around carefully for more possible dangers, I came across something a bit surprising. Skeletons. Yep. Skeletons. Just lying there with little bits of meat and fat hanging off of them. They looked like dog skeletons, so I assumed that’s what I was looking at right now were those scumbags I totally kicked the asses of earlier. Damn, I’m good. Anyway, it looked like someone already took care of things for me ahead of time, so I thought, “What the hell, might as well just head back.” But nope, it wasn’t to be. As I was leaving, I noticed something else, something very, very, very, very interesting. It was a chicken. Well, not exactly a chicken. It had a chicken’s head but some lizard body tacked onto it. Weird. I walked over to it and nudged it with my shoe, careful not to get any blood on it. After all, this was the one I shot in the chest (or is it breast?), with some of that stuff leaking out a little. I crouched down and considered poking it. I did, mainly because I could and no one had the power to stop me. Though I doubt anyone would bother, seeing as though the situation I was already in would probably warrant others to consider me an escaped mental patient or something. Hell, I would if I saw me right now. Right as I poked it where it’d been shot, it shrieked damn loud and bit my finger. It didn’t hurt that much, but it’s a chicken for god’s sake. Humiliating, much? I’d think so. “Ow, you little shit!” I promptly backhanded the small bastard and it pecked at my arm after I pulled back. “You’re just asking for it, aren’t you?” It clucked several times, and from what I could tell, in anger. “Yeah? Well, you too, pal. Go suck a dick -- no homo.” It kept pecking at me arm, probably in self-defense seeing as though my foot was pinning it to the ground. It was at this point that I decided to just throw rationality out the window and teach the damn thing a lesson. I slapped it across the face, repeating for every word I said, “Stop. This. Bullshit. Asshole.” It was dazed as hell once I got off of it. Seriously, I could swear I saw stars floating above its head, twirling about. The chicken-thing shook it off and clucked in frustration, moving its head around to emphasis some point. I just kept watching it, my mind stuck somewhere between amusement and confusion. Was I seriously talking to a chicken a second ago? Why should I be surprised though, I was talking to horses a few minutes back. It made that one sound, like a “bu-cawk” one, really low and sadly. Personally, it was depressing to watch as it spoke some sort of chicken language while it was going through a midlife crisis or something. I stepped back a few feet, giving it room. It stood up, barely able to stand on its feet. There were a few steps away from me before it just fell over onto its face, landing its beak into the dirt and wedging it into there. Wow. That was just pathetic, and the kind of pathetic you feel bad about feeling, like you wanna help the damned trainwreck. So... I did. It really wasn’t like me, but for some reason, the little bastard was interesting to me. I mean, how many people can say they helped a chicken-lizard live to see another day and survive a gunshot wound? Five? Six at most?  Or none, actually, but you’d never know. I picked the thing up in my hands, cradling it like a baby as it clucked several times in confusion, trying to wriggle out of my arms. It was slow, obviously tired from being alive this long with the wound it had. It tried pecking at me, but those meager attacks didn’t even do anything with how weak they were at this point. I grabbed its beak, shutting it, and looked the damn thing in the eye. “You’re going to stop. That’s it. No arguments, no pecking, just stay where the hell you are and stop moving around. Alright?” I was expecting an answer, but the jackass practically passed out where it was. Only reason I knew it was still clinging to consciousness was the fact its eyes were watching me and it was still clucking in confusion. Eh, good enough, I guess. Despite its appearances, it wasn’t all that heavy, despite the huge-ass lizard parts. As I was turning to head back, I ran my crotch right into something, knocking me to the ground. It wasn’t painful, but it sure as hell scared the living shit out of me. I heard an “oof” and something falling over too, and lo and behold, it was orange-pony, sitting on her backend, rubbing her muzzle. And then, I realized that’s where my groin made contact. Given her height from what I remembered earlier, I came to the conclusion her head was closer to the ground than normal, possibly looking for something which I assumed were these “wild carrots” she brought up a few times. What does this mean? My dick, though behind my pants, made contact with her face. Not exactly a pleasant thought. Eugh. Weird. Getting onto my feet, I extended a hand to the pony. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking it. It was weird, she actually managed to somehow grip my hand despite the fact she had a hoof. Like there were fingers there, but invisible? Hell, I don’t know, I’m no bureaucrat. Not bothering to wonder why I bothered to use that specific area of occupation as an example, I snapped back into reality after that millisecond of thought and felt a jolt of... it was something, something kind of... I don’t know the right word... It was an odd feeling, really freaky and stuff. After that first second of touching, it was like some kind of electricity was going through me, only it didn’t hurt, it actually felt... good. Real good. Like, almost some kind of bliss without the ignorance. It might’ve been pleasure, but actually getting that feeling of happiness so suddenly frightened me, enough that I ended up releasing my hand and dropped her back onto the ground. She fell onto her backend again, and both of us winced at that. The pony rubbed at her flank tenderly before I put my hand out again. I gave an apologetic look as she took it, “Sorry about that, there... was a spider in your hair. It’s out now.” Despite the mistake I made, she smiled and rolled her eyes, “No there wasn’t, you just dropped me because of the thing that happened.” What. Not only did she see through my lie (I’m a decent liar, if I say so myself), but she even mentioned something regarding that shock-thing. “Uh, what’re you talking about?” She let go and stretched, much like a cat would, and fixed her mane by bopping it, which essentially made it springy again, “I felt it, you know.” The pony looked away sheepishly, “It was kind of hard bringing you back to the hospital when I found you, because of that stuff. It made me feel sorta weird.” Wonderful. She looked back at me, smiling, “But I still managed to get you back there, and you saved me too.” I gave her a confused look, “So... You aren’t disgusted by what I did to help you? Like the doctor?” “Of course I am, but if you didn’t, you’d probably be dead and I’d be a slave, pulling carts.” She brushed her hoof against my chest playfully, giving me that feeling again, “I’m not some close-minded foal like Doctor Bleedheart, and even though it was kind of scary seeing what you did, you still helped me out a lot. Thanks, again.” I stared at her for a while, finding her attitude quite surprising “... No problem.” She looked at my arms and her smile instantly turned into an uncharacteristic (from my only few hours of knowing her) frown. I noticed her irritated glare, directed at the chicken-headed-lizard-thing, and waved a hand experimentally. “Something wrong?” “It’s nothing,” she huffed, “It’s just the cockatrice you’re carrying.” My eyebrows shot up in surprise, “My what-a-trice?” “I said ‘cocka-’” She stopped mid-way, mouth hanging open as she thought over what she said for the brief second. It shut and her face became slightly more red, “I-I said ‘cockatrice’! It’s that thing you have in your hooves.” And to think I could have averted that interesting and awkward moment if I had actually heard her correctly. Ponies seem to have just as dirty minds as people. Interesting... “Hands,” I said, correcting her, “And what’s the big deal about the lizard-chicken?” I received a look, “Fine, what’s the big deal about the cockatrice?” She squinted at it, “That’s the same cockatrice that bothers me every time I go looking for carrots in the Everfree.” “I’ll give you a carrot to look for,” I blurted out. I quickly covered my mouth with a hand, accidentally dropping the cockatrice on the ground. Snatching it off the floor and back into my arms again, I looked back at the pony, who was now looking off in another direction. Wow, I guess no matter where you go, horribly timed sexual innuendos all end up with the same result: someone feeling awkward as hell. God, why did I even say something like that? I’d normally never say something like that, let alone to a horse. She cleared her throat, bracing herself, and looked back at me with a shaky smile. “R-Right, uhh...” I must’ve insulted her somehow, “I-I’m not very su-” I raised a hand, stopping her short, “Listen, I’m sorry for saying that. It was done on impulse and it probably insulted you, so I apologize.” She waved her hoof dismissively, “It’s fine. Really. It’s just that you don’t get many ponies around here that speak like that unless they’re from Manehattan or some other big city. Ponyville doesn’t really appeal to those kinds of ponies.” Ponyville. Wow. I’d say something like “Oh, how original,” but I have the sneaking suspicion that doing that would be considered cliche, overdone, and just plain played-out. Was I right? Possibly. You never know. Instead, I’ll stick with something more refined, such as: “My word, what on Earth could have possibly spawned such a cockamamie excuse of a label for a town? Truly, we’ve gone past the looking glass on this one.” Or something close to that. “Well, would you mind leading me back to that hospital?” She looked confused, “Why? You don’t look hurt.” I pointed to the cockatrice, “This guy, not me.” “You want to help him? Why?” Damn. Ruthless. Or just annoyed, either way. I like that. “Well...” She looked at the wound on it one more time before turning towards the hospital, “Let’s go then. Doctor Bleedheart is pretty quick with healing magic.” I snorted, “Magic.” “Magic.” She replied, not hearing the tone in my voice. “Okay, so what does magic do?” “I’m not really sure.” She stopped and looked at me, “I’m not a unicorn, so I never bothered with trying to learn about magic. It never really appealed to me.” I nodded, satisfied, sorta, “Makes two of us then.” The rest of the walk was in silence mostly. I walked beside her for nearly all of it, until I ended up tripping over a damn rock and falling to the floor. I shuddered, seeing something I really didn’t want to see before she turned around and helped me up. Man, that made me feel like an idiot. Embarrassing sights aside, she seemed perfectly fine walking next to a some guy who killed a bunch of dogs a little while ago. How tolerant and accepting. Almost niave. Seeing the hospital in sight, I sighed in frustration. It couldn’t come fast enough for me. Jeez, how did I end up like this? You know what this situation was? Bullshit. Author's Notes. Yo, what's good, niggas? I bring to you the third chapter, which is fairly short. Fuck it, it'll get interesting eventually. Or will it? Mystery. Yadda, yadda, yadda, bullshit, other shit, some more shit, etc., etc.. I got nothing left to say. As Always, Stay Trilla.