No More Chicken Please

　

Graveyard shift was always the hardest to adjust to. Sleep becomes a drug, calling your name back to the covers and closed lids, even while on the way to work for another day.

A small group of guys drove to work everyday together, switching off the car and driver, depending on the day of the week. They were now doing a stretch of graveyard shift and finding it harder and harder each day to catch up on their rest. Seven days a week and twelve hour shifts take a toll on the body and the mind, after so many weeks without a break. This was a group of guys that had known each other for years and enjoyed their hour long trips to and from work, joking together along the way. While one would drive and keep his eyes open the others would talk or doze back to sleep for a few more minutes, before taking their place again back on the ship or in the bed, depending on whether it was the beginning or the end of the day.

Driving toward the city, from the rural farmlands of home on a particularly dark night, the guys were tired and not feeling talkative today. One had laid down in the back seat and the other two were up front, feeling slow and tired, before they began another day of work, down in the bowels of a submarine. They all worked at the shipyard and had for many years. Two of them were now working on a sub that had to be overhauled. The work was hot and dirty, in extremely cramped spaces and took it's toll on the men that crawled on hands and knees through the metal tube, to provide the needed updates on the sub. The hours would seem to go on forever some days, as their bodies strained to get through the day. Finally standing up straight and breathing fresh air would give them the strength to walk the mile to the car to fall into the seats with relief.

Darkness followed them to and from work on these short winter days. Not even aware that they craved the sun, they continued week after week in the darkness.

One foggy dark night as they traveled home, almost there, the car suddenly hit something. It wasn't another vehicle because the sound of the impact didn't have the sounds of metal to metal crunching together. The impact was enough to awaken the guy in the back suddenly with a start, leaving him shaken and feeling foggy. The driver was putting on brakes and screaming, "We hit something!" The other two were frantically searching through the darkness with the headlights displaying an erie light on the road in the fog. Afraid to see what that they had hit, but knowing they had to get out and look, they each struggled to adjust their eyes to the fog laden light, floating just above the ground in ghostly shapes.

Suddenly, one of the guys grabbed his buddies arm, gripping his forearm until it hurt. They stood together as they listened to the sound. It was the cries and moans of a man. They looked at each other in horror and turned toward the sound, not wanting to go toward it, but knowing they had to. One of them reached into the car for a flashlight and shined it toward the sound. The fog was floating around them and diffusing the light. The light landed on something..it appeared to be part of something..like a body part. Cold stark fear filled them, as they moved the light further behind the car. The red glow from the rear lights of the car shone on more pieces, strewn all over the road.

The three men groaned aloud and carefully, almost stealthily crept toward the mess on the road, trying to see through the fog. It was definitely body parts strewn over the pavement and they began to feel nauseous, as they continued along the road, finding more and more parts . Suddenly, a chilling scream came from a short ways down the road. All of the guys let out a scream themselves and shot the light toward the sound, now getting closer to them. They stood so close together, a flea couldn't have gotten between the gripping fingers as they clung together, deathly afraid of what they would see. Slowly they walked toward the sound of a voice in great pain, the fear building with each step crunching the rocks on the pavement under their shoes, in the fog and darkness.

Suddenly a figure arose from the road and stood up almost knocking them over as they pulled away from it and lost their balance, landing in a heap on the road in front of the dark mass of a man. He was huge and now towering over them, as they struggled to regain their feet from underneath them.

After what seemed hours of stark silence, one of the guys yelled, "Hardy!" The man's name was Hardy and he was a local they all knew. The daylight was now almost showing through and gave a slightly erie appearance to him. They were shaking with fear, waiting for Hardy to speak, not knowing how badly he was hurt. They were afraid to speak or move. No one could speak for a few seconds, seconds that seemed like years.

Finally, Hardy cried out in an animal like scream, "You hit me!" As if that was totally uncalled for. He was drunk and smelled like he had bathed in a brewery, as he wobbled back and fourth in front of them. Finally, one of them grabbed him by the arm and stood him upright and still. Holding onto him, he told the others to check his body. They looked at him as if he were crazy! They had no desire to feel around his body for missing parts! They told him to sit him down on the pavement, before he fell down. Hardy was mumbling and waving his hands in the air. As they witnessed this, they realized his arms were still attached and they could see his legs and feet, they began to think about all the parts laying all over the road a few feet away from them. ..

Daylight was now almost in full view as they looked behind them along the road beside the car. One of the guys, no longer as afraid, walked over to a piece and leaned down closer, to see it better. He went further up the road and took a good long look at the rest of the spewn around "parts". He stood up  straight and yelled, "Hardy! What the hell is this stuff?"

Hardy looked up and almost cried, "My chicken. You killed my chicken. I'm gonna sue you."

With that said, all the guys started searching the parts and discovered it was indeed, chicken parts, not human. Not a live chicken, but cut up parts of uncooked chicken, that had been wrapped in tin foil, that was now lying in the ditch. The daylight had come upon them fully by now and they could see "parts" all over the road. As they stared back at the mess, they began to laugh. The side view mirror had been torn off it's bracket in the malay. The mirror had caught the chicken and sent it flying apart with full force, leaving the drunken Hardy to wobble around looking for it, untouched and not at all hurt from the almost hit by the vehicle.

As the guys listened to Hardy mumbling about his chicken, they let out a sigh

of relief. Looking to one another they began to laugh, harder and harder until their eyes were full of tears. Their fear of the "parts" now gone and the relief from the knowledge the car had missed this drunken mass of a man, had turned into a hysterical sight on the road. 　

The car still blinking it's red lights glowing over the parts, as though not sure the scene was over, and the tired yet relieved guys were able to laugh at the scene before them.

Taking Hardy home to be sure he was safe and off the road, they headed the few miles left to home with smiles and an occasional laugh at their nights adventure. Hungry and ready for the sleep they so deserved...they all hoped the meal that would be waiting for them... did not include chicken!