It’s over. They’re dead.

There were five of them. Five little chicks conceived for a sole reason: to die. There were born to die.

Dolly, Dolores, Donald, Dwight, and Dilly were quintets, whose parents will always remain unknown. They first breathed in the fresh air of the earth when the first birds of spring chirped. Out of their eggs, they cracked. After several minutes of struggling in their egg-shell cage, they popped out, and stood in the midst of multitudes. Surrounded by millions of chickens just like them, they never saw the sun, nor the farmer who was paid for the mass murder of them all.

After they were deemed appropriate (or so obese that they couldn’t even support their enormous thighs and breasts), they were sent to the slaughter house. And on that tragic day, they were plucked, cut up, their precious muscles were amputated, pressed, and then they had water squirted to the genetically modified flesh. Anyways, the five doomed chickens’ thighs somehow made it into the same yellow package. They were unsympathetically, harshly thrown into boxes filled with other chickens’ parts.

Then they were trucked to the grocery store. Over mountains, hills, plains, lakes, rivers, and valleys, they came to the nearest Pick n’ Save. Remember, they traveled all the way for you. Just for you! By now, you should be feeling pretty special!

After that, they sat on display for every eye to behold. Now, that was the hardest part. If a chicken could survive the amputation, pressing, slaughtering, and such, this was the next part. To be humiliated for all of human kind... that was the worst.

After thousands of by passers examining them, someone picked them up, and threw them in really hard into their cart.

Next, the five chickens sat in this cold box known as a refrigerator. They don’t know how long they were there; time does not matter when one is suffering. Time is not reality. Then they were put in a microwave, in which dangerous waves were put through them. And then, they were cut up once again. The five chicks’ bones and skin were taken away from them ungraciously (who know where their bones and skin went). And then they were put in a pan with a ton of other undistinguishable, mushy things.

That wasn’t the end. They were plunked down on a table, and forks from all sides started coming down, stabbing them. And there wasn’t anything they could do.

They were then put in a dark whole. And then the eating machines began. Chomp! Chomp! Between laughter, screaming, talking.... they went down the deep tunnel of the esophagus. And then they were afflicted by acid. Tons of acid, breaking every molecule down.

And no one knows what will happen after that. They have disappeared, perhaps only to reappear in several years as fertilizer. Or, maybe, they will be muscle in the bodies that consumed it. One can never predict the future, or comprehend the terrible life of a chicken. Like Dolly, Dolores, Donald, Dwight, and Dilly.