Fresh Meat

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Featured Review on this writing by Vance Currie

Cover image:

Fresh Meat

Would you ever get a move on, Lar! We’re going to be late.”

I’m trying, Sean, I’m trying, but these chickens seem to have minds of their own.” Larry darted to the left to head off one group of chickens, while the remainder of the flock began to head right.

Jeez, man. Come on.” Sean climbed out of the truck and got behind the chickens until he managed to group them up. “They are birds, Lar. Of course they’ve got minds, but very small ones. Not like you and me. It really does not take much to outwit them. Now, load them up quick like, we’re going to be late.”

With Sean back in the front of the truck, Larry hustled the birds into the cage, then lifted the tail gate, bolted it in place. Happy that he had done everything right, he climbed into the passenger seat. “Okay, let’s go.”

You’re sure everything’s secure now.”

Sure I’m sure.”

Only,” Sean continued, “Darren has made a big deal about the freshness of the meat he serves. That means,” he continued, pulling out into the traffic and heading towards the newest restaurant in town, “that means he is relying on us to get the birds there.”

You know, Sean, you weren’t quite honest with me. I thought we’d be moving more compliant chickens.”

Sean looked sideways at his companion. “Like, how’s that?”

You know... dead ones.”

If that had been the case I could have done it all myself, couldn’t I. Kept your share of the profit.”

The traffic was quite heavy for a while, and progress was slow. Several cars hooted behind the truck, and Sean reached out a hand to gesticulate with. “Stupid morons. Think their time is worth so much more than anyone else’s.”

Neither Sean nor Larry looked in the mirror, otherwise they might have known what the car drivers were trying to tell them. Larry had been very careful with locking the tailgate into place, but he had forgotten to shut the cage. The chickens were hopping out, fluttering up onto the edge of the truck bed then fluttering down onto the road. Lucky for them, the traffic was slowed to a crawl, giving the birds ample time to make their safe escape.

Sean looked at the clock on the dashboard. “I hope you’ll be a bit more reliable next time, mate, or I’ll have to find myself another partner.”

Larry glared ahead, angry that Sean was blaming him for their lateness when he could have got himself out of the truck a bit quicker to lend a hand. He kept silent. Darren’s place was only a couple of streets away; they’d just about make it in time.

Sean signalled and turned the truck into the restaurant yard. Much as people seemed to like their meat fresh, they did not like to see the proof of how that was achieved. Darren was waiting outside the back door, a meat cleaver in his hand.

Cutting it fine, lads, aren’t you!” Darren waited until the truck drew to a stop then walked to the back of it. “You’re having me on now, aren’t you? Where’s my birds?”

In the back,” Sean said, opening the door and jumping down. “Look!”

The cage was empty of all but a few feathers. There was not so much as one bird in the back of the truck, either alive or dead.

Larry!” Sean’s voice was a barely controlled roar of anger. “Get out here would you.”

Larry jumped down into the yard and sauntered round to the back of the truck. He had no idea what had caused his mate’s fury, for he had done as instructed... hadn’t he?

When he saw the empty cage Larry looked from Sean to Darren and back again. “Where have they gone? They were here; every one of them.”

Sean pointed to the cage lock. “Either you forgot to lock the cage or one of those chickens was an ace lock-picker.”


Darren pushed himself between the two bickering men. “Much as I’m enjoying listening to this game of pass the buck, I need meat. Fresh meat! And I need it now!”

Larry watched as his mate reached out for the lethal looking blade. He only caught a quick glimpse of the cleaver as it whirled towards his neck, too fast for him to dodge ite never heard Sean’s parting words.

There’s your meat, then. Nice and fresh. And believe me, not one of the punters will be able to tell the difference.”



Submitted: January 09, 2021

© Copyright 2021 hullabaloo22. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:


moa rider

Well at least no pluckig was reqiured eh? Mama Hullabaloo.

Sat, January 9th, 2021 8:16pm


Haha! Thanks, Moa. You brought a much needed smile.

Sat, January 9th, 2021 1:17pm

Mike S.

Sooky and kooky, Hull

Sat, January 9th, 2021 8:58pm


That's me. Thanks for reading, Mike.

Sat, January 9th, 2021 1:13pm

Mike S.


Sat, January 9th, 2021 8:59pm

Vance Currie

I couldn't decide whether this story is horror or humour, Hully, but of course it's both. Nobody can do horror/humour better than you.

Sat, January 9th, 2021 10:13pm


Oh, I wish, Joe! I'm so glad you take these stories as they are meant to be taken - not too seriously at all.

Sun, January 10th, 2021 10:43am

Mark A George

Loved it, Hulla!
One of the cooks sampling the first dish before thrusting it through the pick-up window.
"Hmm, tastes like chicken. Order number four!" he yelled, dinging the bell.

Sun, January 10th, 2021 2:39am


Haha! Thanks, Mark!

Sun, January 10th, 2021 10:41am


All is fair in the cutthroat industry of supply and demand!
nice one, HB22

Mon, January 11th, 2021 2:58pm


Thanks, C-S!

Mon, January 11th, 2021 9:53am

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