Yellow Tale (aka Chicken Walker)

Chicken Walker woke up sleepless and in a bad mood. He had nightmares all night, from which, as is often the case, he remembered only blurry images in the morning. He remembered dreaming of large worms with shiny axes chasing him around the yard with malicious intent. Then he saw himself standing before a stately rooster, who said, "What should I do with Chicken Walker?" while the angry crowd shouted in a loud voice, "Cook it! Cook it!" At that very moment, the chicken awoke with a start. He

lay there for a moment, then stood up, stretched his beautiful yellow wings, and dragged his yellow belly to the puddle where he bathed daily. When he was finished, he looked at his reflection and squealed, "

Damn Christmas..."

He spat into the puddle and went out into the yard. A voice snapped him out of his reverie:

"Hello, Walker.

" The voice came from the ground. The chicken, startled out of his reverie, looked down and saw his old friend.

"Hi Walker!" George the Earthworm repeated louder.

"Hi George.

" "How's it going?

" "Fine," Walker said, spitting.

George and Walker had been friends for a long time, despite the general outcry of the backyard community. A friendship between a chicken and an earthworm might seem strange, but let's be honest: what in this world is normal?

"Which one?" the chicken asked.

"What?

" "Well, what number are you?

" "Ah. Thirty-two and a half. Since yesterday.

" "So that's all you have?

" "What can you do? Gotta make ends meet somehow," George the Earthworm joked.

The earthworm has an interesting property: when you cut it in half, both halves live on—each with its own life. There were always plenty of chickens roaming the backyard, and every now and then one would grab the earthworm for food. Sometimes he missed the mark with his beak, and the worm escaped, but in two pieces. So one day, when Walker met not just one George, but three, they decided to number themselves to avoid confusion.

Initially, everything went well. Problems began to arise when, later that day, George Six split into George Six, Seven, and Eight (it was morning). Around noon, George Seven, after a panicky escape, managed to split into George Seven and Nine (he remembered that Eight had already been there). By evening, George Six and Seven had been eaten, while George Eight had split into Eight and Nine. Thus, two Nines were born. Both were grandsons of Six, and neither wanted to relinquish their honored number (the lower the number, the more respectable it was). This day is called the Great Dividing Day and is celebrated among earthworms as a great solemn holiday, on which everyone wishes each other long life, good land and all the best.

So, from the Great Dividing Day, George Earthworm was divided into two main factions until last Christmas. Then, when Walker, the chicken, was invited to Christmas Eve, so moved the gathering with his speech about family and unity that all of George's descendants unanimously decided to unite as one and stick together from then on.

Walker's idea of ​​using fractions was adopted, so, for example, George

Seventeen (of whom there were five) appeared as George Earthworm Seventeen Proper, George Earthworm Seventeen and Two Tenths, George Earthworm Seventeen and Four Tenths, and so on. Since then, weekly meetings have been held to update the large family tree. Recently, the tree has begun to grow significantly, and there have been calls for computerization. As for Chicken Walker, he was awarded the title of Friend of Earthworms on the anniversary of the Great Divide, and a month later he received the title of Honorary Earthworm, along with free admission to weekly meetings and a lifetime pass to the soil ball games.

"Have you found the First One yet?" the chicken asked after a moment of silence.

"Still nothing. But we're not giving up. The Fourth One was asking about you. You haven't been to the meeting for a while.

" "I've had problems.

" "Yes, yes, rumors are spreading all over the yard. Apparently you're planning something for tomorrow.

" "And how do you know about this? Which one spilled the beans? If I find...

" "Calm down, no one spilled the beans," Kasia said.

"Kasia the Frog? A nasty toad." She lost her mind. You know what

she told me recently? That she doesn't want to be called "Kasia." "Kasia" is her

for the family and clients, and we all have to call her "Miss Katarzyna."

"Good!" This one has...

George didn't have time to say what Kasia the Frog had, because he suddenly divided it. It was thanks to the beak of Rafał the rooster, who, sneaking up behind him, took a swing at George. Rafał wasn't hungry, but he'd had two beers and was a bit bored. Seeing the earthworm, he felt a scientific streak in him and decided to see how many pieces he could divide it into and still live. Poor George was already in four pieces before he realized what was happening.

"George, run!" shouted Walker the chicken.

"Well, bye, Walker!" shouted George Thirty-Three, Thirty-Six, and

Thirty-Seven. The rest had already hid underground.

"Bye! Oh, and tell Fourth I'll come back on Wednesday.

" "Okay, I'll pass it on. Bye-bye!" shouted George Earthworm Forty-Three,

disappearing into the ground.

"Twelve," gasped the rooster, Rafał.

"But they'll have to count," muttered Walker. "Now they'll probably buy that computer...

" "What?"

"What, 'what'? Oh, nothing, I was saying to myself.

"Twelve pieces! And all alive!" Rafał was clearly fascinated by the question. Chicken Walker looked at him with disgust.

"Old drunk...

" "What?

" "And deaf, too.

" "Speak louder, I can't hear a thing when you mutter like that.

" "Merry Christmas!

" "Ah, merry, merry," Rafał said absently.

Suddenly the meaning of Walker's words dawned on him.

"What do you mean 'merry'?" Have you gone mad???

"Why?

" "What's so merry about Christmas?

" "Well, people always say that...

" "Do I look like a human being?" the rooster said indignantly. "Some rejoice, others

die. That's life, boy. They rejoice, we die. If that's how it has to be, then so be it, but 'merry Christmas' is a gross exaggeration.

" "Hmm, and you were rejoicing just a moment ago.

" "What am I supposed to do? Sit down and cry?" That's all I have left before they kill me. Gotta get something out of this life, right? Enjoy what I can.

"Like killing earthworms?"

Rafał's small eyes widened at Walker.

"They're just earthworms.

" "Right. They die, we're happy.

" "I told you, boy: that's life.

" "Yes, but it's not life that kills and tortures those earthworms, it's you.

" "I don't kill them!

" "You kill!

" "I don't kill!!

" "What were you doing just now?

" "It was a science experiment!

" "Yeah? Do you know why people kill us? Because it's tradition! You think you're better than them?! You sadist! You're just like them! Do you hear that? You're like a human!"

A large group of gawkers had already gathered around Walker's chicken, yellow as a marigold, and Rafał's rooster, swaying slightly on its legs. Among them was Kasia the frog, keenly interested in everything happening in the yard. She was now sitting in the mud, picking her nose, and observing the scene with curiosity.

At Walker's last words, a murmur went through the crowd. Calling a rooster a "human"! What audacity! What nerve! What an insult! Everyone waited in suspense to see what would happen next. Some began placing bets. Kasia pulled out a notebook.

After these last words, Rafał screeched his beak, clenched his wings, and lunged at Walker's chicken. For a split second, he looked very menacing, but unfortunately, he moved too quickly, lost his balance, staggered, half-ran, half-flew two meters, and then tripped over Kasia, who, trying to get a good view of the fight, got too close. He fell under the yellow chicken's paws, slicing George Forty-One, who had just emerged from the ground, with his beak.

Chicken Walker looked at Rafał with disgust, spat, turned, and walked away. The rooster lay in the mud, trying to think of a way to quickly escape this foolish situation. He looked at Kasia. The frog knew perfectly well what was about to happen. She shrieked and charged like lightning toward the pond. Rafał now directed all his anger at the frog. He stood up, crowed loudly, sending shivers down everyone's spines (or in some other anatomically related place), and gave chase, cursing like crazy. Thus ended the duel between Chicken Walker and Rooster Rafał.

Chicken Walker, meanwhile, had gone to the shed for a special meeting. On that day, an important decision was to be made regarding tomorrow: Easter. Walker was the initiator of the action planned for tomorrow. The only thing standing between the plan and its implementation was today's vote. The incident with Rafał

was very convenient for Walker.

The shed began to fill up. The gray took on a yellow hue, which grew ever stronger, ever juicier, until finally the entire hall seemed to be drowning in the yellow of chickens, of which so many had arrived that there was no room left. Chickens were present not only from the local backyard, but also from several nearby ones—and they wanted their say in an issue so important to the chicken community.

Once everyone had taken their seats, the chairman welcomed those present. He briefed the audience on the agenda, the main part of which was a speech

by Walker the chicken and the vote. After the introduction and the organizational matters, Walker finally spoke. A perfect silence fell upon the hall.

"Chicken!" the speaker began. "You all know why we're gathered here. You all know the details of the 'Yellow' project, so I'll get to the point without further ado.

I know many of you are skeptical about the whole thing. I know many of you want to live a peaceful, honest, and dignified life. I know many of you don't want to endanger yourselves and your families. Believe me, my dream is to live a safe and peaceful life.

Walker took a strategic break here to drink from a puddle and gauge the audience's mood. Everyone listened in silence and concentration.

"Fuckers!" he continued. "They're humiliating us! They're stripping us of our dignity! They're laughing at us, making us into toys, little yellow chicks! I don't need to tell you, you know it well!"

An angry murmur rippled through the hall—the speaker's words were having an effect.

"Who takes us seriously? No one! Is it our fault we look like this? Who sees a philosopher, a poet, a scientist in a sweet, yellow chick? No one! No one takes us seriously!

" The yellowness rippled like a sea, and angry voices rose: "Scandal!" "We won't be humiliated!" "Unexpected!"

"We want peace, we want to live peacefully and honestly, but we want people to treat us as we deserve—with due respect. We have every right to do so!"

Walker lowered his voice.

"But whose fault is it that people deny us this right? Well, whose, I ask you?"

The speaker looked silently around the room. No one spoke.

"Ours. It's our fault, Mr. Chickens. People see only our sweet yellowness in us, and they see it because we allow it. And by allowing it, we encourage it. It is we who rob ourselves of our own rights."

Walker took another sip from the puddle.

"Tomorrow we will have the opportunity to show the whole world that we are more than just yellow Easter chicks. Tomorrow we can earn respect for ourselves, make the concept of the 'Easter chick' disappear once and for all. It's up to you to make that happen."

There was silence for a second, then a veritable storm of applause erupted. The hall roared with applause, whistles, and loud cheers, the air was yellow with feathers and down. This lasted over three minutes. Then the vote took place. The result was almost unanimous. Chicken Walker won, and the "Yellow" operation was to take place tomorrow at nine a.m.

The next day, preparations began at sunrise. By eight a.m., the yard was full of chickens from all over the neighborhood. Grzegorz, an old eagle, happened to be flying by, looked down at the familiar yard, and what he saw made his blood run cold. The ground was yellow. Grzegorz was already very old, he had sclerosis, suffered from brain atrophy, and was utterly clueless. Moreover, he believed he was, in fact, a rat that had sprouted wings. The yellow surface before his eyes had a profoundly stimulating effect on his old, worn-out brain. Brain currents slowly flowed forward, and the process of association began. After just a few seconds, Grzegorz reached an astonishing conclusion, which he expressed in these words:

"Oh my God! I have jaundice!"

Grzegorz the Eagle was later reportedly seen asking everyone he met in the air for the nearest rat hospital. This information, however, is uncertain, as it was provided by Kasia the Frog, and its credibility, as is well known, is questionable.

Meanwhile, it was approaching nine o'clock. All the chickens were already in their designated places.

At precisely nine in the morning, the farmer, Justyna, emerged from his cottage and stood on the porch. The farmer's name had previously been Nowak, but he had once watched an episode of the TV series "Chłopi" (The Peasants) and really liked the main character, a certain Boryna. So Nowak went to the office with the intention of changing his name to Boryna, but when he got there, he forgot what name he had in mind; he only remembered that it ended in "-yna." When asked by the clerk what name he had chosen, he replied:

- ...yna!

- How do you say?

"Nuu... something... -yna!

" "What?! Are you kidding?"

The host was furious.

"I'm a calm man, but my paw is heavy! Write your own there, ma'am, I already know my own there! How does that name end in -yna go?

- Justyna???

- Oh, exactly!" the host rejoiced. "You're right!

" "But it's...

" "Write it there!

" "But!...

" "Write it, ma'am, I say! Because my paw is heavy!"

And so Mr. Nowak became Mr. Justyna.

So at nine o'clock on Easter morning, the host, Justyna, stood on the porch and, in surprise, dropped the prayer book he had with him, as he did every Sunday, to the ten o'clock mass. Before him stretched a sea of ​​chickens, but not yellow at all. They were gray, dirty, and wet. He looked at them more closely: they were all covered in mud.

Justyna, the farmer, was a calm man who respected tradition. He liked order and disliked change. The sight of thousands of muddy chickens standing still in his yard was a shock beyond his endurance.

He fainted.

Walker the chicken raised his wing. Everyone stared at him. Walker looked around triumphantly and with a quick movement lowered his arm. At this signal, a powerful, sky-rocketing cry rose from everyone's lungs. A cry of victory and triumph, stifled by the dark years of slavery, now finally emerged. A cry filled with a sense of injustice and suffering, a symbol of everything that lies like a painful splinter in every chicken's heart:

"Damn Christmas!!!"