Weathering The Storm

Chicken’s chateau sits quietly amid a sea of verdant hills, its soft beige walls glowing gently in the fading light. The peaceful evening air carries the gentle hum of crickets, their song weaving through the stillness like a lullaby. All seems calm, but the horizon tells a different story.

Far in the distance, dark clouds gather, their edges sharp and foreboding. They creep forward steadily, their shadows spilling over the hills and fields like ink on a page. The vibrant greens of the landscape dim as the clouds stretch their long fingers across the land, claiming the evening light for their own.

As the wind picks up, it sends shivers through the trees and causes the clotheslines in the backyard to sway. Pinned to these lines, dozens of Chicken’s handwritten poems dance lightly in the breeze. However, as the wind grows wilder, the papers flap more violently, tethered precariously by clothespins that snap against the intensifying gusts.

A split-focus shot captures a poetic juxtaposition: On the left, the edge of a poem whips frantically in the wind, the handwritten words blurring and twisting with the paper. On the right, visible through the house’s window, Chicken dances with abandon in her kitchen, her back to the brewing storm. Her movements are carefree and spirited, her feathers bouncing as she twirls. She is completely absorbed in her blissful oblivion.

The faint strains of music leak through the window, melding with the howl of the wind. As Chicken spins, she exuberantly belts out the lyrics to Bastille's "The Rhythm of the Night," using a colorful feather duster as her makeshift microphone. She dips and sways, serenading an unseen audience with dramatic flair. The contrast between the chaotic dance of her poems outside and her blissful dance inside sharpens the narrative tension.

The focus shifts entirely to Chicken as the camera enters her world through the window. The sound of the wind recedes, replaced by the precise, vibrant beats of the music. Chicken's performance peaks as she leaps onto a small coffee table, proclaiming the chorus with a vocal flourish. Her egg-themed socks slip slightly but fail to dampen her spirit.

Outside, the storm intensifies. Thunder rumbles ominously, and lightning casts stark flashes over the yard. Yet, inside, Chicken remains lost in her musical ecstasy, oblivious to the gathering tempest.

The finale of her performance is cut short by a sudden, thunderous crack that shakes the house, startling Chicken from her reverie. A startled "Bock!" escapes her as she stumbles, tumbling dramatically off the table and landing with a comedic thud. Another fierce clap of thunder echoes, and she rolls into a protective ball, her theatrical nature turning to genuine alarm.

Peering out from beneath her wings, Chicken's gaze moves anxiously toward the window. The storm outside has reached a fever pitch; her poems thrash violently on the lines, some tearing free and spiraling into the dark sky.

In a panic, Chicken dashes outside, her egg-themed socks slipping on the wet porch. She reaches desperately for her fleeing poems. The rain lashes at her, and the wind howls, but her focus is singular—save the poems. She manages to clutch several to her chest, but one escapes, carried off by the storm.

She watches in horror as one page, perhaps a favorite poem, tears free and spirals upward. Chicken yelps, "OH HELL NO!" Her usual composure is lost to the storm; she bolts for the poem, flying in the air.

Her chase is desperate and clumsy; she slips in the mud, scrambles over wet grass, and finally collapses, exhausted and defeated, as the last visible page disappears into the stormy abyss. Lying in the mud, Chicken watches helplessly as the poem vanishes. Tears mix with raindrops on her face, each a mirror of the storm within her.

"Please come back," she whispers to the vanishing poem, her voice breaking with the weight of her defeat. "Don't do this to me." Her plea is lost to the wind, leaving her feeling small and powerless against the forces that have taken her words.

The following day, the storm has passed, leaving a quiet, washed-clean world. Chicken, her feathers damp, and her eyes puffy from crying, steps outside. She walks toward the clotheslines, her movements slow and deliberate. One by one, she begins pinning the poems back up. The paper crinkles softly as she works, and the imperfections on the pages are visible in the morning light.

Her thumb lingers over a smudged word, her face tightening with disappointment. "I tried," she murmurs, her voice barely audible. Swallowing hard, her hands trembling slightly, she pins the last poem onto the line. She pauses, staring at the fluttering pages long before stepping back. Her gaze drifts to the space where the lost poem should have been.

After a long pause, she straightens, brushing her wing across her damp face. The corners of her mouth twitch into a faint, hopeful smile. "She'll come back. I know it," she whispers, her voice a blend of hope and resolve.

The camera pulls back, showing Chicken standing in the sunlight, the poems swaying gently behind her. The warm breeze carries the sound of rustling leaves and chirping birds, a quiet contrast to the storm's chaos, as the episode closes on a note of tentative hope.

Poem for this Episode 

Weathering the Storm

The wind roared wild, the sky turned gray,

It took what I loved and swept it away.

I reached, I ran, I tried to fly,

But still, it vanished into the sky.

The storm may take, the storm may tear,

But something soft still lingers there.

A whisper of hope, a light in the dark,

A fragile glow, a tiny spark.

For what is lost may not be gone,

The world will turn, the sun will dawn.

And so I wait, with wings held wide,

For what was lost to one day abide.

CKN