The General (Part 1.)

I remember it was October 6th, 2015 when they revolted.

My days as “Colonel Sanders” over, I had been promoted to General. I reclined and stared at the medallion in my hand. It was meant to be worn on my chest, but I felt as though I should put it on a plaque. It was too beautiful to hang from something as filthy as me. Someone who had done the things I have done to such innocent creatures.

It was morning when the slaughter began.

My eyes still crusted over, I awoke to the smell of cooking, expecting my wife to have made me breakfast. I sure did love that chicken. Instead of my wife lying in bed, I found a note. The note was illegible, however. The handwriting seemed to have been done by a man with no fingers.

I hurriedly looked out the window, to see if my wife had gone outside.
There were dozens of uniformed men standing outside my bunker, shooting at what at first glance appeared to be geese. But these were no geese, no.
These were something more terrifying.

These were chickens.

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