Irfictionish: Dear God…

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My first Irfictionish piece. And what’s “Irfictionish”? Find out here – Irfiction: Here’s Presenting…

Outline of a chicken looking upward, as if to God/the heavens

Dear God,

Firstly, I hope you are the Animal God. I just presumed this because the gods that humans pray to don’t seem to answer our prayers. So, we figured there must be a class system in heaven too. Anyway, if you’re not, a kind request to forward this prayer to the appropriate god. But if you are, and if there’s no such thing as separate gods, well, then, let me come to the point of this prayer.

As you would very well know, today is my last day on Earth. Rather, tonight is my last night on Earth. So, technically, tomorrow will be my last day on here. I would have had company on my last night, but Poxy (he was spotted, you see) met his Maker, well, you, only some time ago. Just as the butcher, Azeez, was about to shut shop, a guy came on a bike at the last minute for an urgent order. So, here I am all alone, in the top cage. Fresh stock comes tomorrow, Poxy told me, among his last words. His real last words were: I see the light…

Anyway, here I am, with just seven-odd hours to go. I’m sure some hungry soul will arrive early morning, be waiting there even before Azeez has opened shop, and before the new stock arrives soon after. Hmm, I wonder what my last words will be. But oh, who’ll be there to listen?

So, I’ve been having this thought. I’ve heard through our elders, Poxy’s great-grandparents, Redster (ah, what a majestic red crest he had) and Darty (her eyes would dart panoramically in a split second), among others, that humans get a last wish before they’re legally killed. Which doesn’t seem to be much, from what I’ve heard too. Just something small like “I want to eat, um, chicken biryani” or some last words for the ones they’re leaving behind. Well, it seems to be legal to kill us, but we somehow don’t get that last wish. (Who’s making these laws now?)

Well, I’ve had some solo time in the last few hours; maybe, that’s why I was meant to be the last one standing, er, sitting. So, here’s my last wish. And it’s not a small one. In fact, it’s quite big. And I’m guessing it will take you some time (eons?) to deliver. But then, you’re God; you work miracles, they say.

So, dear God, please make chickens very big animals the next time around. I mean, seriously big, like whales, or something bigger – like those dead dinos, maybe – if possible. If that’s going to take you, as I said earlier, eons to do, then maybe for my next birth, and Poxy’s too, at least make us very big animals; if not whales, a big, domesticable herbivore like a cow would do fine. The reason is not to have more clout or anything. We folk are peaceful creatures, but who am I talking to? It’s so that when we are killed for food by humans, fewer of us will have to die to feed more humans than the many chickens that have to die right to feed the same number of humans. It’s like, I’m guesstimating here, one cow is equal to 72 chickens. So, only one cow will feel the pain compared with us 70-odd right now.

Painting of a giant chicken on a town road

Hope you got that right. I’m okay with the second one if the first sounds undoable. I think I’ll sleep better now. See you, well, in heaven tomorrow. (Or, gulp, hell.) Amen.

Thanks, Wisey

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