It could only have happened in the Year of the Festive Chicken. Everyone agreed about that.
A rooster with a giant purple tail falls plum out of the sky and lands without a scratch on City Hall? ‘Course, then he laid himself an egg, and wasn’t no way to explain that. Then there was the party and kids setting off fireworks and the building burning down — and the damned egg went and hatched in the fire!
No, nobody’s seen the rooster since, but if you don’t believe me, I’ve got me one of the feathers — I can prove it happened.
Author’s Note: My son was talking about a chicken in a new video game he was playing, and I misheard “year of the festive chicken.” I had to write a story about that, and somehow the festive chicken turned into a phoenix.
Delightful!
I greatly adore the voicing of this Drabble. The casual country feel of this piece goes MILES toward establishing the social setting without needing to spare even a single word for explicit scenery detailing.
Also, the voice here is just plain FUN. I smile the whole time while reading this. And the fact that the narrator is clueless re phoenixes leaves me feeling like I’m clever when I figure it out. Like I’ve seen something that someone else has missed!
In a way, I feel like Erin Hartshorn has created a delightful and mangical moment that (afterward) allows me to give myself a pat on the back. This is the mark of a very giving author.
Bravo, bravo — and thanks!