The Chickens Have Landed - Part Three

The Chickens Have Landed - Part One
The Chickens Have Landed - Part Two


“And then there was that other friend, wasn’t there,” says Atyllah, egging me on.
“Yes,” I say. “I only sent him an email requesting that he issue D with a letter of invitation about five weeks ago.”
“Whatcha need a letter of invitation for if he’s a friend?” asks Granny looking puzzled.
She’s never quite got the hang of human bureaucracy. Mind you, I can’t say I have either.
“D needs a visa. Because we’re staying with a friend, the friend has to issue a written invitation so the authorities know we’re not refugees or state freeloaders.”
Granny considers this for a moment. “Nope, still don’t get it.”
“Don’t worry about it Granny, most don’t, it’s human stuff,” remarks Atyllah.
“Ah,” says Granny, “well that’s all right then. Their stuff has never made sense. I still can’t get my head around all this division humans are so incredibly intent upon.”
“No, me neither.”
“Frankly, they’re a disgrace to the oneness of the multiverse,” mutters Granny as her eyes redden.
“That’s what Aunt Aggie always used to say,” replies Atyllah.

Great Aunt Aggie, Philosopher Chicken, now with the Andromedans manifesting multiversal peace

“Shall I carry on?” I ask. “If you’re sure you’re quite finished.”
“Of course, of course, you carry on, dear,” says Granny pouncing on an unfortunate bug that had been minding its own business on the daisy bush.
“Well,” I say, “after four weeks no invitation was forthcoming and we were running out of time to apply for the visa. I emailed him again – and again – and again… Eventually he said it was too complicated… I mean I ask you, what is it with men?”
“Human men,” corrects Atyllah.
“Yes, well, them too,” I mutter.
“I can’t stand the suspense,” squawks Granny, “did you get the vista or not?”
“The visa,” I say, “I don’t know. We did finally get the invitation, after a considerable amount of stress. Whether we get the visa on time remains to be seen. We may yet be staying home and missing our holiday. You know, I really-really-really don’t need stress like this – not after everything went tits up with the other friend. Did I mention how much extra that has cost us? Did I?”
“Um, well I did spot the figure in your brain. You haven’t thought of, you know, doing that thing the Americans so love to do – what’s it called now…? Sewing her.”
“Ooh,” crows Granny, “you mean like stitching her up - like that Frankestein fellow.”
“No,” I say, rolling my eyes, “I think she means mean suing.”
“Yes! That’s it! You haven’t though of suing her, have you?” asks Atyllah. “I gather she is extraordinarily wealthy…”
“No, but I did withdraw all offers of friendship. I’ve decided that loyalty is vastly overrated.”
“Oh I could have told you that if you’d but asked. It’s really not a quality suited to the current state of human evolution,” says Atyllah. “And besides, there is nothing quite so callous as the super rich. We see it all the time with the Arcturean nobility. Think they’re gods – or something.”
“More like something – from the depths of the henpost heap,” mutters Granny and then pats my knee with a knobbly claw. “Don’t worry, darling, you can always come back to Novapulse with us for a nice little break. We love to have you…”
“Thank you, Granny,” I say weakly. Somehow, and with full respect (I’d be mad to have anything less) the idea of three weeks living amongst chickens who are human sized just doesn’t appeal.
“And then, what was the other thing?” asks Atyllah.
“I don’t know why you keep asking me when you already know.”
“Ah yes, the other was the administrative bit of financial bungling caused by bank officials which may well cost you a few thousand pua shells.”
I grunt and notice that my heart rate is doing a jitterbug jive without the benefit of a tune. I can feel the steam building up in my ears and my foot starts to tap the floor in an uncontrollable way.
“Well, I think we arrived just in time!” announces Granny. “I can see my little cupcake here has been well and truly upset and that Does Not Please Me.”
She quivers and a strange sound starts to build up. It seems to begin near her knees. It travels upwards and issues from her beak as cacophony best described as a howling screech.
OMG! Granny is going Were! And it’s not yet full moon.
Oh dear. It truly doesn’t do to anger the old bird anywhere around full lunar manifestation.
I watch in alarm has her talons start to extend. Her eyes develop a maniacal gleam, her beak sharpens to a razor-sharp point and thick clumps of fur start to sprout between her toes.
“Let me at the bastards,” she screeches.
“BAHOWOOOOOKAAAAAOOOOOOWWWWL!”
I stuff my fingers in my ears and grin quietly behind my scarf. Frankly, I am delighted the chickens are here.
“See, I knew you would be,” says Atyllah smugly.

Granny Were starts to go were...

The Chickens have Landed - Part Two

Atyllah the Hen...

The Chickens Have Landed - Part One


“So,” says Atyllah the Hen slurping through a straw at her mopani worm juice, “do you want to tell us about it?”
“What’s the point,” I mutter, “You already know. I can feel your mind creeping about my thoughts like a ravenous, oversized mealworm.”
“I’ll ignore that reference,” says Atyllah.
“Ooh, mealworms, did you say mealworms?!” cries Granny Were excitedly. “Oh I don’t suppose you have any?”
“Out in the garage,” I say, “In the aquarium. Left over from Ms Bo’s days.”
“Hmm,” mutters Atyllah, her tone as dark as a storm cloud whose thunder’s been stolen. “I heard about that. I always said no good would come of your playing at Mother Fowl. Or is that foul?” she murmurs sotto voce.
“Listen here,” I protest.
“Ptchah!” snorts Atyllah and little flecks of mopani worm juice create an unattractive speckling on the fabric of the sofa. “So, this trouble you’ve been having… You do know,” she says giving me the kind of thoughtful look that would make lesser beings crumble to dust, “don’t you, that your infuriation has been radiating across the multiverse like a star going supernova on a clear night. I’m surprised the Alpha Vampirieans haven’t been here yet to leech all that juicy red hot energy from you.”
“The Alpha Vampirieans? Who the hell are they?”
“Ah, yes, hell indeed, but perhaps the less said the better. I wouldn’t want to give you nightmares, think how my own beauty sleep might be disrupted. Let’s just say they materialized 240 degrees off the west front of the Gamma Quadrant, and have been making um… food along the way.”
I consider her words for a moment and feel beads of icy sweat prickle on the back of my neck. Alpha Vampirieans…
“Yes, that’s right,” says Atyllah, “The general idea forming in that pea brain of yours is about right.”
I do so resent the liberties the Chicken takes in infiltrating my thoughts – and categorizing my brain.
She smiles. “Don’t you just wish you were telepathic? Now, now, don’t lie…”
From the back yard I hear a contented belch. Clearly Granny has not only found the mealworms but has eaten the lot. Sigh.
“Now, about this trouble of yours, tell me all about it.”
“What’s the point, you know anyway or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Yes, but you know that a problem shared is a problem halved.”
Oh the rhetoric!
“Sarcasm, my dear Vanilla, as you have so often told me, is not an enviable form of wit. But no matter, given your reluctance, shall I just list the annoyances of the last few weeks and we can form a plan of action from there.”
“Action? Did someone finally say action?” Granny flings herself upon the sofa and lets rip a fart of spectacular proportions. “Sorry,” she says fanning the fumes away, “it was the beans I found in your vegetable patch. They don’t seem to quite agree with me.”
FRRRRT!
“Perhaps we should sit outside,” I suggest as a noxious vapour threatens to overpower me.
We migrate to the patio and watch the space pod as it bobs, glinting like a pearlescent oyster, around the pool.
“Now, as I see it,” says Atyllah, “first there was that so-called friend of yours who decided she was swanning off to a spa for a month.”
“I don’t see any problem there,” said Granny frowning. “What’s wrong with going to a spa. Ooh, do you think she’d mind if I joined her.”
“Oh yes, please do,” I encourage. “I wouldn’t have minded at all,” I say turning to Atyllah, “were it not for the fact that we were going halfway across the world to visit and stay with her. I mean, it is a bit rude, don’t you think, having made all the arrangements, booked the flights, checked and double checked that our visit would not inconvenience her, for her to suddenly turn round and say, ‘oh, I probably won’t be here when you get here’. I mean, you know, WTF?”
“Yes, I see your point,” says Atyllah, preening an errant wing feather. “Not very nice.”
“No manners that,” snaps Granny, “No etiquette. Most inconsiderate.”
“My thoughts exactly,” I reply.
“Yes, I think perhaps I may well pay her a visit in that spa,” murmurs Granny, her eyes glinting in a way that has been known to make warrior Draconians tremble in their iron studded boots.

Granny Were...

TO BE CONTINUED…If the world survives.

The Chickens have Landed - Part One

An all too familiar screech ricochets through the fabric of time and space. It is accompanied by muffled cursing of the more fruity variety.
SPLASH!
Why the space pod, a translucently silver capsule, always lands in the swimming pool is beyond anyone of human persuasion.
“It’s because the garden is too densely treed to allow a safe landing on the lawn!” squawks an indignant voice.
As if anyone would dare call the pilot’s navigational skills into question.
“You do understand that, don’t you?” It’s the kind of voice that has an insistence about it that cuts through the skull-bone and penetrate directly into a mind – which is exactly what it is doing.
Telepathically projected it feels like sherbet of the brain. And it itches.
“To the rescue!” crows another voice. It has a rasping quality which is edged with a sort of lunatic peal. “Let me at ‘em!”
Anyone who knows and hazards a glance at the evening sky will cringe realizing it is nearly full moon…
“Help me out of this damned thing!” snaps the second voice. “And make sure I don’t get my feathers wet!”
“Granny,” clucks the first voice, “stop being such a drama queen. Ouch!”
Oh yes, gentle reader, the Chickens have landed. Gird your loins for the going the might get rough. And bloody.
“I don’t know why you bothered to hide.” Atyllah the Hen’s voice reverberates down the passage with foghorn intensity. “You know I know exactly where to find you.”
“Anyone would think she’d be pleased to see us,” mutters Granny Were. “Did you pack the corncakes, I’m feeling a bit peckish.”
‘Oh Vanill-aaaaaahhhh!” The tone can not be described as dulcet.
“OUCH! OW! STOP PECKING ME!”
“How many times must I tell you – you can run but you can’t hide. And anyway what kind of greeting is this? You with your head under the bed and your backside pointing skywards like some flat-barreled missile? You haven’t been at the beans, have you?” Atyllah asks suspiciously.
“Your trouble is you’re incorrigible,” I mutter backing out from under the bed in what can best be described as an inelegant manner.
“Darlingggggg,” crows Granny Were wrapping her wings around me.
ATISHOO!
Bloody chicken feathers.
“What – sniff – are you doing here?”
“Your woes are our woes,” says Atyllah in magnanimous tones.
“Ah, you mean Granny felt up for a fight.” The moon’s full-bodied roundness, like a good, wooded Chardonnay, has not escaped my attention. “Couldn’t she have picked on the Draconians? Or is it just that it’s our turn again?”
“Really,” remarks Atyllah as she studies her well-manicured talons, “anyone else would be grateful. A being could be quite insulted by your cavalier idea of a welcome, you know.” She shoots me a beady glance.
I stare at her – and remember to shut my mouth.
“Of course I’m delighted to see you…”
“Oh pull-lease! You were never any good at lying.”
I notice from the corner of my eye that Granny Were is bopping and bouncing like a boxer on cricket juice. “Let me at ‘em, yeah. A peck here, a kick there, a bite to the jugular. Hmm-mmm…”
I groan. It’s my own fault of course. I’m the first to acknowledge my own shortcomings and I hold myself entirely responsible. It’s my own inability to control the anger I’ve felt over the past few weeks as one level of incompetence, selfishness, thoughtlessness and stupidity has leaped to another – and led to the Chickens’ arrival. Actually, if truth be told, I’m secretly rather glad they are here. Sometimes A Chicken With Attitude is just what a girl needs.
“Of course you are,” says Atyllah.
“Of course she is,” echoes Granny Were and smiles. It is a smile which spreads across her beak and can best be described as gruesome. I mean have you ever really, really seen a were-chicken smile?

TO BE CONTINUED… if I survive.