50 Hues of Silver: Chapter 8

Chicken

Mona woke with a startle, blinking as her eyes slowly began to focus. She stared up at her ceiling and watched as the wooden fan spun, gently tussling her sweat-soaked hair. The sun was now shining through her translucent window shades. Mona rolled over onto her side, expecting to find Edwardo Peen. Instead, she found a note. Mona grabbed the letter with her left arm, which still had the piece of black cable wrapped around it, and began to read. Four minutes later, she believed she had grasped the basic gist of the note.

“Laters, babe,” it read.

She sat for a moment, pondering from whom it could’ve been sent. Her parents were no longer alive, so she immediately took them off the suspect list. As far as she knew, her cat was unable to write—but remained suspicious, until otherwise proven innocent. And then there was Edwardo. He was here last night, and had been the one to allow her body to be invaded and penetrated by the common fowl. She now understood the note: Edwardo was gone, which explained his absence.

Mona leaned over and pulled her body into an upright position, letting her legs dangle off the side of the bed. Her back ached and her sex felt raw. The clock beside her bed read 9:34am. She held the note in one hand and re-read it, then crumpled it into a ball and tossed it onto the floor with a smile. A chicken ran out from below her bed, a condom on its foot.

At least we used protection, Mona thought, watching the chicken run to her door and stop, then slowly walk out. She stood up and followed the chicken, which made a soft sqursh with each step of its left foot. It wandered out of her bedroom and straight into the kitchen, stopping at the shattered jar of dill pickles. It began pecking. Mona sat for a moment and watched as the chicken’s body rose and fell with each peck, like it had done to her body the night before. Edwardo had stood over while the chicken had its way, pecking and clucking to its heart’s content. She wanted to tell herself she didn’t enjoy it, that she didn’t like the abuse Edwardo forced upon her. The truth was, however, that Mona loved every second of it. She longed for more. She wanted to lose herself in his thick, black chest hair, which was more likely to be mistaken for the Amazon than it was for someone’s abdomen. She wanted to smother herself under his play-dough like beer belly, which he called his “Adonis belt.” More than anything, though, she wanted to be abused; she wanted to look into his eyes as he hit her with a small frozen waffle, like he did when she was bad.

Mona glanced back down just as the chicken stopped pecking. It looked up at Mona, as if trying to tell her something. She stared at it for a moment, waiting for it to speak.

“What do you want, chicken?” Mona asked. The chicken did not reply. “Don’t play games with me, chicken, what do you want?” The chicken resumed pecking the dill pickles, careful not to peck any of the shattered glass. Mona shrugged and walked back into her room.

Her bed was unfamiliar, its sheets and blankets tossed off to the far side. One of the pillows was on the floor near hear. Atop it was three small, white feathers a torn “Magnum” condom wrapper. Mona recalled how Edwardo had tried to use the condom on his tiny sex, buried deep beneath his stomach, but gave up once it slid off for the fifth time. Instead, he put it around the chicken’s foot, which seemed to give him great pleasure. She could not remember the rest.

Mona walked over to the pillow and brushed it off, then placed it back on her bed. She made a mental note to wash her pillow cases next week. Mona quickly cleaned off the rest of her bed, throwing the sheets and pillows on top, until her room seemed slightly more familiar. No matter how much cleaning she did, however, nothing seemed to stop her mind from racing. Had she really been a virgin just three days before? She never imagined she’d be the one to have sex at just twenty-seven years old, let alone with a bird and a man in the same week.

After making her bed as best she could, Mona wandered over to her closet and stared at herself in the full-body mirror. Her face was pale, her mascara running: A dark black smudge below her azure eyes. Her crimson lipstick was smeared off her lips, and dried whipped cream caked the top of her forehead head and her ear. Her golden blonde hair was still moist, although the top had dried and was caked upwards in a sort of faux-hawk. She reached her arm up to try to flatten it, but was interrupted by the ring of her telephone.

Mona walked over to her bedside and grabbed her phone. “Unknown Caller,” it read. She picked it up.

“Hello?” Mona asked.

“Hey, is this Domino’s Pizza?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Mona replied.

“I’d like to order a pizza, with chicken, for delivery” the voice said, its pitch rising slightly toward the end.

“I don’t deliver pizza,” Mona replied, tapping her foot.

“I’m just kidding, babe, it’s me. Edwardo.”

Mona smiled. “You fooled me again, Edwardo. You are very cunning.”

“Thanks babe. How’s your she-dick feelin’?”

“My what?” Mona asked, one eyebrow raising.

“You know, your woman-penis, vadge, va-jay-jay. Your vagina.”

“Oh, it’s good. I–”

“That’s nice, babe. You walking?” Edwardo interrupted.

“Yes, I saw a chicken this morning and I follo—”

“Nice, nice. Most women find they can’t walk after an evening with the Peenster. That’s my new nickname, by the way. The Peenster. You’ll hear more about it later.”

“I don’t think I get it, but it is a pretty cute nick name. Reminds me of the show Rugrats. You know, that one ginger kid.”

“Yeah, whatever. Can you do me a favor, babe?” Edwardo asked.

“Sure, love, anything.”

“Can you bring my chicken back to my apartment today? My mom wants him back for supper.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I guess I can,” Mona said, imagining a chicken at a dinner table, napkin across its neck, knife and fork in each wing. “How do I catch him?” Mona asked.

“I don’t know, figure it out. I believe in you and whatever. All right, babe, I’m out. Gotta wash the ol’ Johnson off before I go to work. Don’t know where that monster’s been. No, I’m just kidding. It was in your ear and vadge and whatever. Anyway, I’m out. Shit, I shoulda called my Johnson the Peenste—“ Edwardo hung, his voice trailing off.

Mona looked down at her phone and admired the picture Edwardo had sent her to use as his calling I.D. He was naked, except for a child-sized fur coat and a coon-skin hat. His belly peaked out of the jacket like a baby crowning before its birth. She loved him, and she was beginning to think he felt the same.

Mona put down the phone and walked back out her bedroom, ready to hunt down the chicken and bring it back to Edwardo’s apartment for a nice dinner.

 

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