THE GREAT CHICKEN ESCAPE
by Sinbad

	Dawn broke over the campus. Inside the dark, dusty, fowl-
smelling rooms of the Poultry Research building, the rows of 
roosters stirred as much as possible within their cramped steel 
cages. Unable to resist the time-worn instinctual urges they 
felt as the sun trickled in through the grimy windows, heads 
tilted back, beaks opened, and the obligitory crowings soon 
filled the air.
	Another day of eating, crapping and squawking; another day 
of being poked and prodded; one more day of having blood and 
tissue samples removed, and unknown, toxic substances injected 
into the bloodstream lay ahead. This day was to be different, 
however...
	Todd glanced through the dingy, metal bars of his cage into 
the handful of desparate eyes across the aisle from him. The 
brief nods that met his glance were all the information he
needed; this would be the day. He gazed briefly at the notepad 
hanging alongside the door of his cage: "Neural Enzyme Test". 
Todd didn't understand what the printing meant in any human 
sense, but he knew that something was different... and it was 
time for a change.
	Feeding time arrived. The fat, smelly graduate student 
rolled sluggishly between the rows of cages, doling out the small 
helpings of "scientifically formulated" feed. This was the daily 
high point; choking down sawdust-like, dry chunks to get enough 
strength to survive another day of torture.
	"Gunna be another taste-test tomorrow", the pig-student 
slobbered. "Gunna be making some chicken-burgers this afternoon 
I hear. A few of you boys'r gunna be losing yer heads, I
reckin'..." he broke off his ramblings to howl sadistic laughter 
into the dusty air. Scarred and atrophied wings beat futilely 
against the bars in the cages near him, but other beaks closed 
tight in grim silence... waiting.
	Closer and closer the drooling fat boy came, scooping out 
the loads of grain. With one last glance across the aisle, Todd 
let his lids droop to half-mast and settled down into the dung 
which encrusted the floor of his cage.
	The contrast between the flapping, crowing hoards and the 
restful Todd penetrated even the thick skull of the feed boy as 
he neared Todd's cage. "S'rong with you, chicken-head?", he 
stammered, poking a finger through the bars and into Todd's side. 
"Aww, hell, if yer sick again, they'll blame me fur shoor." The 
sausage-like fingers twisted the cage lock a half-turn to the 
right and opened the front door. Grubby hands reached into the 
cage and pulled Todd into the dim light to be examined.
	That's when he struck.
	Carefully sharpened talons gouged home into astonished eyes, 
wrenching and twisting through blubbery flesh. The fat boy spun 
around and around shreiking and flailing his chubby arms, all
sense gone, as he tried to dislodge his feathery attacker. The 
echoing screams died as the feed boy did when Todd's claws found 
the soft pulp of his brain. The fat body slid to the floor like 
a sack of dead beef as Todd pulled his dripping claws free and 
cleaned them on the boy's "University Bong Team" shirt.
	For the first time, the dusty air filled with the smell of 
freedom.
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