He used to enjoy really pleasant dreams… that was before the chickens.
He used to be able to rely on particularly nice dreams, the sort that you’d remember with fondness the following day. Like being somewhere really nice, like on the beach, just lying there catching the sun or strolling through some pretty forest, looking at all the different coloured flowers, smelling their fragrances, listening to the birds chirping in the trees, feeling the breeze on your face making you feel so alive! Such night-time reveries were wonderful. Then, gradually, night after night, the chickens would appear. At first it would be just the odd one spoiling the scene. But as the nights went on, those demonic things would grow in numbers. It always started the same way.
First he’d hear their horrible clucking, next thing you know they’d be round his feet. He’d be tripping over them. They would start to panic; running around bumping into each other. There’d be feathers flying everywhere, getting stuck to his clothes, up his nostrils… it was awful. He would wake up spluttering and choking, brushing imaginary feathers away from his face.
It was as though all of his lovely dreams had been turned into nightmares!
He couldn’t help wondering whether it had anything to do with chicken nuggets…
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