- #Everyone has a story to tell and a scar to bare mod#
- #Everyone has a story to tell and a scar to bare mods#
I let out a scream of incoherent rage and threw the stake, my only weapon, like a spear. It hurt - oh Merlin how it hurt- I could see dark blood gushing forth and something pearly-white that must have been my inner skin, and worst of all, a hint of curdled yellow fat. He used one of his disgusting, shit-covered chicken talons to rip a hole in my calf. That single moment of lowered defenses was all the bastard little cock-bag needed to break in and leave his mark. I think I broke his rib or something, he let out a squack, and I felt terrible and decided the battle was over. I hesitated after my first jab, and that was my mistake. Something as tall as my knee, that I fed every damn day, was trying to kill me. I could have left the coop by then, I think, if I had been willing to turn my back on the beast - but frak. I started trying to jab him with the end of the stick. This thing was really a threat, that's what I'm trying to get at here. I don't remember much about most of my scratches - I do remember a mixture of blood and sweat getting in my eyes, so I must have been scratched on the face by his wings when he flew up and beat them at me.
![everyone has a story to tell and a scar to bare everyone has a story to tell and a scar to bare](https://images.shirtofamazon.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/06/I-am-a-daughter-of-God-I-was-born-in-July-my-scars-tell-a-story-they-are-a-remind-ladies-tee.jpg)
I don't think he liked my display of brave fighting skillz. The blood rage was in me.īy this time my kid brother had come back into the coop, and was just screaming incoherently, rather like someone being axe-murdered. But the bastard had already given me a few scratches with his talons, beak, and strong, sharp wings (we trim their feathers to help prevent flying, and the cut ends are like a quill-tip) and I was angry. I'm obviously no pussy but I hate the way it feels to hit something alive, how you can feel their flesh and bones beneath your hand or tool. I stopped just trying to shove the little bastard out of my way and started really wailing on him, smacking him out of the air, desperately beating at him, having to react every second or so because he just wouldn't stop coming at me. I started trying to leave the coop too, hitting the rooster with the stick every time he came at me - but he got in between me and the door, started trying to corner me like he had cornered my brother. The rooster turned his attentions to me and my brother ran out at first, crying. I grabbed the stake and ran into the coop, doing some wild Indian yelling shit. Roosters have big frakking talons so I didn't know how bad he might be hurt. My brother didn't fight the bird at all - just cowered there and covered his face with his arms - and I could see blood all over his bare arms and legs. The rooster had him cornered and escalated to going at him, claws, beak, and wings flying. He thought he could get in and get out fast enough. My brother didn't bring the stake with him, wussy pacifist that he is. Sometimes we'd have to give him a few shoves with it, no big deal. He was really territorial about his hens but would usually back down when he saw the large wooden stake we carried into the pen. Now, we owned a rooster, and he wasn't nice. I handed him the bucket and he entered the pen to fill the bin, and a few minutes later, he started screaming. My kid brother and I (ages 10 and 8) went out to feed our chickens one day. It's about the size of a dime, not very noticeable at all as it has aged, though it used to be purple and knotted and strange. >!insert spoiler here!< Other subreddits you might like: some
#Everyone has a story to tell and a scar to bare mod#
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