Movie Night with The Human Race

It’s movie night at Chicken’s little chateau. The air is tinged with the scent of fresh pine from the nearby woods, and the soft hum of the outside world fades as Diane and Caroline step into the house. The door creaks, its wood groaning under the weight of years, but the sound is comforting and familiar.

Diane enters, holding a bottle of red wine like a precious gem. The glass glimmers in the dim, amber light of the room. She takes in the mismatched furniture and the soft, worn rug that lines the floor. There’s a quiet magic to this space—warm, inviting, and filled with a sense of peace. For a moment, it feels like nothing exists outside these walls.

“All right, guys, I’m pretty nervous,” Diane says, her voice light with hesitation.

She sets the bottle down on the coffee table with a soft clink and uncorks it slowly, the sound of the cork popping like a sigh of relief. She pours the deep red liquid into glasses, dark as the night sky, the wine catching the light and swirling in the glass. The room fills with the rich scent—berries, oak, and earth blending into something comforting and a little luxurious.

Chicken’s light and reassuring voice drifts in from the kitchen. “You’ll be fine, Diane. It’s just a movie!” The sound of popcorn kernels popping, crackling, and shifting in the pot fills the room, blending with the warmth of the wine. Chicken is busy preparing a bowl. The salty scent of fresh popcorn mixes with the earthy richness of the wine, creating a tantalizing aroma that seems to hug the entire room.

Diane raises an eyebrow, glancing over at Caroline. “Does anyone even know what this movie’s about?”

While lounging on one end of the couch, Caroline flicks her tail lazily as she responds, her amber eyes glowing in the soft light. She doesn’t look away from the TV yet, as if considering her answer carefully. “No, I’ve only heard the title when we pass people talking about it.”

“You love to eavesdrop,” Diane says, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Without missing a beat, Chicken and Caroline respond in perfect unison, “We both do.”

Diane looks first at Chicken, still in the kitchen, and then at Caroline, who lounges on the couch, her eyes locked on the TV. Caroline gives her a sly grin and shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s called observational skills.”

Diane chuckles but raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “Do you two realize how many lines that cross?”

Chicken enters the room with a large bowl of steaming popcorn, balancing it in her wings with practiced ease. She plops down between Diane and Caroline, the soft rustling of her feathers filling the room as she settles into the cushions. She grins, reaching for a handful of popcorn, the buttery kernels crunching between her beak.

Chicken shrugs, sharing a sly glance with Caroline. “Well, not so much in those words, but…” Caroline cuts in, “Yes.”

Chicken turns to Diane, her green eyes twinkling with mischief, offering her a playful reassurance. “Look, Diane, I’m sure it won’t be too bad. Some horror movies are so bad they’re funny! Maybe we’ll laugh more than scream.”

Diane sighs dramatically but smiles, the playful twinkle in her eye giving away her amusement. “Oh, I do love a comedy… okay, I’ll give it a chance. This is my first horror movie ever!”

The three of them raise their glasses in a small, celebratory toast. The sound of the glasses clinking is sharp and bright before they settle back into the couch, the soft cushions enveloping them comfortably. “Cheers to Diane’s first horror movie!” Chicken says, clinking glasses.

“What’s this movie called again?” Diane asks, glancing at the TV, still uncertain.

Caroline, already holding the remote, presses play without a second thought. Her fingers glide over the buttons with the practiced ease of someone who knows this routine all too well.

“The Human Race,” Caroline says, barely glancing at Diane as she presses play.

Diane tilts her head, her brow furrowing. “Weird name.”

Chicken, already munching on her popcorn cheeks full of popcorn, nods in agreement. It’s a strange kind of peace, sitting with her friends, ready to dive into the unknown.

…

As time passes and the movie unfolds, Diane's expression shifts from mild interest to wide-eyed horror, her face pale in the dim light of the screen. Her hand tightens around her glass of wine, but her eyes never leave the TV. The tension in the room grows palpable.

“Hey!” she suddenly exclaims, sitting bolt upright, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “That’s her calf’s milk, not yours! Where are they taking her baby?”

Her voice trembles with disbelief, her words hanging in the air like an accusation.

Chicken’s eyes remain glued to the screen, unblinking, her feathers ruffling slightly with unease. She mutters under her breath, her voice barely a whisper, “This is escalating quickly.”The tension in the room thickens, and an electric charge hangs in the air.

A few minutes later, a loud “Bock!” blares from the TV, cutting through the silence like a jagged knife. Chicken flinches so violently that her wings flap out of instinct, and in the process, she sends the popcorn flying—some of it even landing on her lap, the kernels tumbling like tiny white projectiles.

Diane, eyes wide with shock and anxiety, reacts almost automatically. She scoops the popcorn scattered across her lap into her mouth at lightning speed, its salty, buttery taste clashing with the growing knot of unease in her stomach. The popcorn crunches loudly in the otherwise silent room, each bite echoing in her ears as though trying to drown out the mounting tension on the screen.

Chicken, trembling, glances down at her wings in a panic, her soft cream feathers slightly shaking. Her eyes flicker from one wing to the other as she frantically checks to ensure they’re still intact, as if the very fabric of her being could be torn away by what’s unfolding on screen. “I can’t believe these creatures would eat my wings!” she exclaims, her voice rising with horror and disbelief.

The room feels suddenly too small, the walls pressing in as the events on the screen take on an almost surreal quality. Diane freezes mid-bite, popcorn still hanging in midair as she stares at Chicken, her panic beginning to match the intensity of what they’re watching. “I can’t believe I’m still here for this!” she says, her voice strained, her hand shaking as it hovers in the air, popcorn forgotten.

Meanwhile, Caroline remains eerily calm, her attention unwavering, eyes locked onto the screen with a burning intensity. Her fingers grip her wine glass so tightly that her knuckles are white, the veins in her hand visible under the pressure. Her eyes seem to glow, the deep amber flecks catching the light, making her look almost otherworldly. There's an unsettling stillness to her—like a storm about to break. The air feels heavier around her, charged with a quiet, dangerous energy.

The screen suddenly cuts to black, the words “The End” appearing in bold, final letters, stark and unrelenting. The abruptness of the ending feels like a slap in the face, the sudden silence in the room deafening after the tension that has built. The weight of it lingers, hanging over them all like a thick fog.

…

Popcorn is everywhere. The once neatly arranged bowl now lies abandoned on the floor, its contents scattered like confetti in every direction. Chicken and Diane sit frozen, their faces still locked in stunned silence, eyes wide and unblinking, as the horror on screen still lingers in their minds. The air feels thick. It’s as if the movie’s aftermath has seeped into the walls, making it harder to breathe. Diane feels it in her chest, a quiet heaviness.

Caroline’s anger simmers. Her fingers curl into a fist around her wine glass, the glass groaning under the pressure. Then, with a final violent squeeze, it shatters in her hand. The sharp, sickening sound of breaking glass pierces the stillness. Red wine pours over her fingers, splashing across the couch onto them. The crimson liquid spreads across the fabric like a bloodstain, seeping into every crevice—unnervingly symbolic, as though the wine shares her fury.

Chicken, blinking at the mess, surveys the spilled wine with wide eyes. She raises her now-empty glass, her voice dry, almost resigned. “Cheers to everyone’s last horror movie.”

Diane, still in shock, brushes popcorn from her lap. She grabs one last handful, the saltiness of it a poor attempt at grounding herself. She pops a few kernels into her mouth, their crunch strangely comforting as her mind tries to make sense of the chaos. “At least the popcorn was worth it,” she mutters, her voice softer now, more fragile.

Chicken picks up a stray piece of popcorn from her lap and pops it into her mouth, her voice calm despite the storm of emotions swirling around them. “Or yoga mats for all of us,” she adds. “At least we’ll survive the stress next time.”

Diane glances nervously at the TV, the words “The End” still hanging in the air like a final, oppressive weight. She shakes her head, a soft, disbelieving chuckle escaping her lips, though the unease in her chest lingers. “There definitely won’t be a next time.”

Caroline finally speaks. The low growl of her voice reverberates with suppressed rage, her words slow but deliberate. “I wonder where the cats were in all of that. If anyone ever tried that with you two, I’d paint a mural of their destruction. In red. Bright red.”

Diane raises an eyebrow, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “Very therapeutic,” she remarks, her sarcasm bitter.

Chicken pats Caroline’s shoulder with her wing, her touch light yet comforting, offering a small moment of reassurance amidst the storm. “Well, thank goodness it’s not real,” she says, her voice steady, as though she’s trying to convince them all.

Diane nods, her eyes still wide, her face pale. She looks at the TV, then back at Caroline. “Yeah... it’s just a movie. Right?”

Caroline’s eyes still glint dangerously. The fire inside her is far from extinguished. “I hope so,” she says, her voice carrying a quiet threat.

Chicken grabs the remote and turns off the TV with a soft click. The sudden silence is deafening. It feels like the room has inhaled sharply and is holding its breath. “All right, next week, something light,” Chicken says, her tone steady but firm. “Maybe a musical or a comedy. Nothing that makes us question our existence, please.”

Diane responds, “You’re lucky I brought wine. I think it’s the only thing that got me through this,” Diane says, then smiles, “Though it might take a couple more bottles to help me forget that movie.”

The three of them settle back into the couch, the weight of the night still pressing down on them.

Poem for this Episode

The Human Race

Red wine splattered, a harmless stain, In their world, no cause for pain. But beyond their walls, the red runs deep, A river of blood, where silence weeps.

Born to take, to dominate, A species blind to others’ fate. Milk that’s stolen, wings that bleed, A hunger fed by endless greed.

Behind the mask of cultured grace, Lies the terror of the Human Race. Cages built to shatter the wild, Where freedom dies, where life is defiled.

The Human Race, a name of dread, Leaves rivers of blood in their tread. Yet change can come, the tide can turn, If hearts awake, if minds will learn. So let the wine’s stain be a plea, For eyes to open, for souls to see.

CKN