Microfiction: Pulled Chicken

“That wasn’t chicken,” she said, standing behind him as he washed off the plate. The remnants of meat slid away, to be caught in the drain cover.

“Uh…what?” he said. “Then what was it?”

“I don’t know.”

He spun around, letting the plate slip into the sudsy water. “Then…wait, what? You let me eat something weird? Was it soy?”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand. That wasn’t chicken. It’s never been chicken.”

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off with a look of fear.

“There’s never been such a thing as chicken. Never has that food existed.”

“What?! Sally, you’re being silly. How could it not exist?”

“Look at it again.”

A tightness hit his stomach. Nausea washed over his soul. He blanched and turned to look at those scraps. What had been white and thin and stringy was now green and fuzzy, and, worst of all, looking back at him with raisin-like eyes.

“What the fuck is that!”

Her voice was flat. “It’s what you thought was chicken.”

And he was about to scream when a further thought struck him and the horror of it slipped into his heart like an assassin’s knife.

“But everything tastes like chicken!”

Special thanks to: Melissa Potter

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