Music was blaring through the open windows. Serafina’s knock was barely audible, but Rasmus swung the door open.

“Serafina!” Rasmus shouted over the noise. “What’s up? Come in!”

Serafina immersed herself in the chaos, and without hesitation she tried to explain, “I’m going to be straight with you- well, not straight ‘cause i’m not.” She snorted. “But like, to the point, I need- Is that a dancing chicken?!”

“Oh yeah, Ove and Ivalu found her wandering on our front lawn,” Rasmus replied. “She’s pretty talented, huh?”

The chicken was racking up points in Dance Dance Revolution until the very end. The tiny Ivalu, exhausted, toppled over in defeat once the song finished.

“Y’ain’t shit Ivalu,” Ove shouted at his sister, as he pushed her battered body to the side.

Like clockwork, Ove and the chicken agreed on a song, and began to dance. But this song, When I Grow Up by The Pussycat Dolls, sent the chicken down memory lane.

Freshly hatched from the egg, the chicken was introduced to music, and with that, the influence to move to the melody. Her mother thought it was cute, the way she would move her feet, and sway her plump behind, but she wanted to be more than cute. She wanted to be the best. She wanted to be famous.

At the ripe age of 1, she set out on her own. She followed the music, made it to frat parties, and befriended lonely flute players in the woods.

‘I’ll be famous one day’, she would think as she practiced daily. On her journey, the chicken stumbled upon Rasmus’ front lawn, and danced to the music that poured out of the windows.

Eventually, she caught the attention of the two children, and as many others had done, they welcomed the talented chicken into their home. However, this time was different.

Other people, other homes, were not equipped with a game to help her practice. This game offered her a wide selection of tunes and choreography. Upon discovering this game, the chicken silently decided she would stay a while, and practice to achieve her dreams.

‘I’ll be famous one day,’ she repeated in her head. ‘It is my dance dance resolution.’

Serafina stared in awe as the chicken demolished Ove this round without even breaking a sweat. Not that she could sweat, she’s a chicken after all.

“Uh.” Serafina cleared her throat, and looked to Rasmus. “Look, I’m really in a rush. My wife needs parsley, but Nomi wants bones, and Aaron wants your lucky rabbit’s foot. Can I give you something in exchange for the foot?”

“Why does Satomi need parsley?”

“You know, pregnant women crave thi-”

“She’s pregnant?!” Rasmus threw his hands in the air, and giggled like a schoolgirl.

Serafina smiled at his excitement. “Yeah, for a few months now.”

“I had no idea! I assumed hormone replacement therapy would make you infertile.”

“Oh no, I’m not on hormones. It’s hard enough to get my supply of period blood all the way out here, forget estrogen.” Serafina tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “Anyways, Rasmus, I need the lucky rabbit’s foot. What do you want in exchange for it?”

Serafina silently prayed for his request to be money.

Rasmus placed a finger to his chin and stared at the ceiling as he thought. He animated his thought process by throwing his thinking hand into the air. “Oh! I know! Tamecia has a handwritten cookbook.”

“You want a cookbook?”

“Hey, I’m a single dad living in the middle of the forest. I need to make due with a surplus of wild mushrooms and ramps.”

Serafina sighed. “Fair enough. I’ll be back with the cookbook,” and she went on her not-so-merry-way.