She Will Come Back to Get You – #Paranoia 1105

Posted on August 11, 2010


Rugg’s deceased wife grew tired of watching his boring life from the beyond. She decided to come back and check up on him. A quick visit, she said. A nice, quick visit. She also planned on tripping the old bastard, but didn’t quite verbalize the intention. Truth was it had been twenty-five years and at eighty-nine she was beginning to grow impatient. He just wouldn’t die.

She decided on the body of a chicken as there were plenty of those on his homestead.  Reincarnation was not an easy feat — she closed her eyes and strained hard.  The birth took three tries — Rugg kept eating the eggs.

Rugg’s eyes were chock full of cataracts and his hearing was terrible. His wife, now a chicken, had a terrible time getting him to recognize her. She would cluck while running underneath his legs, weaving dangerously beneath him. He would say in an old, grumpy voice, “Get the hell out from under me, damn Chicken.”

Rugg’s wife (chicken) thought back to a time when she was still alive as a woman. They were young, in their late forties. Cameras had recently entered the market and they saved up for months to buy one. They would take pictures of everything and everywhere they went. Whenever he took pictures of her he would jokingly scold her after and say that she never smiled right. Every picture contained an otherwise pretty face skewed in one direction or another, even sometimes with a tongue jutting out.

Aside from passing an egg or two, she spent her days as a chicken in a careful manner of plotting. Rugg was an ornery old man and kept no daily schedule. She knew she would have to charge beneath his feet and trip him if she was going to kill him. There were about six steps up into the house and she knew this was the strategic point for attack. Cluck Clucki Cluck, she said in a devious dialect of chicken which actually translated into the English as ‘Chicken Murder’.

One morning Rugg dug out a camera from deep within his deceased wife’s trunk.  It was forty years old but all of the internal mechanisms worked like new. There was even film.

He went outside with the camera in tow.  The shots were not that important. He didn’t care about them and would probably never have them developed anyway. What he was after was a certain aged grin that might follow the nostalgia of having used the camera in the past.

Click, click, click.

He tried to get a good photo of one of his chickens but the damn thing was animated and wild. Not one of the shots captured the entire animal and he eventually gave up.  He turned to walk up the steps that led into the house, ready to cook breakfast.