Invisible Flames

As twilight drapes its velvet cloak across the horizon, Chicken's steps whisper along the cobblestone paths of her quaint village. The remnants of day cast a gentle lavender glow, lending an ethereal quality to the landscape that deepens the solitude enveloping her. Clutching white netted satchels bursting with the day's vibrant bounty—shiny red apples, bright oranges, and sun-kissed bananas—she moves like a brushstroke against the canvas of dusk.

Through the serene whispers of the evening breeze and the soft rustle of grass beneath her feet, Chicken savors the crisp tang of an apple, its freshness a stark contrast to the sudden sting of smoke that cuts through the air.

Her tranquility shatters as her gaze lifts to the horizon, where an ominous dance of orange flames leaps violently against the darkening sky. A piece of apple tumbles from her slackened jaw as shock tightens its grip, her heart thundering in her chest.

"No…" escapes her lips in a hushed gasp.

The fire's reflection catches in her eyes, turning them into twin beacons of fright. The half-eaten apple falls from her trembling wing as Chicken rushes toward her chateau, her heart pounding in her chest. The full scope of the disaster becomes horrifyingly clear.

The clotheslines are ablaze, and the sight of her poems burning, each line consumed by the encircling flames, strikes her like a physical blow. Her grocery bags hit the ground with a thud, forgotten in the chaos, as fruits scatter across the path—a chaotic sprawl that mirrors her sudden panic.

The flames lick the night sky, devouring her words and stomaching her hard work. Chicken's world seems to collapse around her, each ember igniting the essence of her creativity and passion.

Circling the chaos, Chicken watches helplessly as her creative sanctuary is consumed by fire, each ember an assassin to her passion and dreams. Overcome with despair. She collapses among the ashes of her words and the ruins of her peace, her sobs a mournful echo in the encroaching darkness.

The scene abruptly shifts. Chicken awakens with a start in her bed, her feathers damp with the sweat of terror. Tears streak her face as she gasps for air, the remnants of her nightmare clinging like cobwebs to her mind. Compelled by a desperate need for reassurance, she stumbles outside into the embrace of dawn, her pajamas clinging to her like a cold reminder of her nocturnal ordeal.

Startled by an unexpected obstacle, Chicken stumbles and loses her footing. With a soft thud, she lands squarely on her backside, sitting awkwardly on the cool, dewy grass. As she looks around, disoriented, she realizes that she has tripped over the fruits that tumbled from her bags the night before. Surrounded by scattered apples, oranges, and bananas, Chicken sits with her legs stretched out in front of her, the once bright and fresh fruits now bruised, contrasting against the grass's green.

Confusion furrows her brow as she picks up an apple and examines its injured surface. Her eyes flicker with a mix of wonder and skepticism. "How?" she murmurs, her voice tinged with unease.

The fruit in her hand feels heavy and real, impossible to reconcile with the logic that it was all just a dream. This contradiction deepens her disorientation, and she scans the tranquil morning around her, seeking something amiss.

Chicken's expression shifts between bewilderment and a tentative reassessment of her surroundings. She brushes a wing through her feathers, a gesture of trying to make sense of the conflicting realities. Her gaze lingers on the bruised fruit arrayed around her.

Chicken starts to gather the fruit one by one, but she notices something amiss. The apple she had been enjoying in her nightmare, the one that tasted so sweet and crisp, is nowhere to be found. She searches around, her eyes scanning the dewy grass, but it has vanished as if swallowed by the earth. This absence tugs at her heart, a poignant reminder of what was lost in the imaginary blaze.

The episode closes with Chicken holding the intact fruits, her gaze thoughtful and distant. She looks out over her home, reassured by the stability of her poems fluttering gently on the clothesline, yet the missing apple haunts her, a subtle echo of her fears and the fragility of peace. The final shot lingers on her contemplative face, reflecting the complex interplay of relief, loss, and ongoing resilience.

The camera slowly pulls back, leaving Chicken a small but resilient figure against the vastness of her property. She sits quietly, contemplative and somewhat melancholic, reflecting on the complexities of her emotions and the enduring beauty of her surroundings despite the temporary disruptions of her peace.

Poem for this Episode 

Invisible Flames

Anxiety rots what once was fruitful,

Burns through verses once beautiful.

In the garden of my mind, shadows play,

Turning vibrant hues to muted gray.

Fresh fruits spoil, poems fade,

As phantom flames dance and invade.

No true fire, yet the damage shows,

On bruised apples and withered prose.

My lungs are a hollow field,

Filled with the aftermath of a wildfire.

Struggling for breath in the smoky air,

Choking on the ashes of despair.

Yet in this quiet after the blaze,

Amidst the spoil and smoky haze,

I gather seeds, not all is lost—

In calm, I reclaim what fear had cost.

CKN