The diary of no. 2221 - or, Clucky, as she names herself

When I woke up this morning, I was terribly itchy. All the feathers I had tried to save had rubbed off during my fretful night asleep. It was pretty horrible, because Jonty was kicking me whilst she dreamed, and I dreamed that my mother hen was kicking me away, and kicking me into the small, dung-smelling metal cage with Jonty and Glassy.
Anyway, I was very upset. I could see them wedged between me and the thin bars of the cage, and I went to pick them up with my severed beak. It was quite tough, but in the end I made a quite comfortable cushion with them. My beak, which was very raw after being slapped a bit by the horrible owner, felt dreadful, and I was still sniffling as Glassy opened one bleary eye.
"Will you shut up?" she clucked sleepily, and tried to shuffle away from me. Jonty woke when Glassy turned, and said "Oh you silly goose, Clucky."
Just then, in the rather yellow lights of the farm, a door opened. A horrible, clanging open, and all the hens shielded their eyes as white light flooded into the room. I grimaced as the shadowy figure of the owner - Jack - stepped into view. He slammed the door shut behind him, smirking at the deafening BOOM that sounded around. Then, he tipped feed into the long chute.
Glassy, Jonty and I all stuffed ourselves into a painful line, and began pecking furiously at the grain that had begun to roll dully down the cute. I snipped at the sesame seeds, gnawed at the poppy seeds and cracked the sunflower seeds, until my stomach was full. Then, I fell back into a bit of empty space while the others kept snacking.
That was the worst bit of the day - the bit where feed was deposited. We had to line up to receive it, and that was very hard, because there was not enough room. Our feathers would rub into each other, and even though you would think it was comforting, the sharp bits poked in like Jack's fingers.
When the others had finished, we tried to make ourselves as comfortable as possible for laying. We sat there, feeling only slightly broody, as the lights flickered and we sat, bored, tired and annoyed.
I tried for the hundredth time to scratch and peck at the hard metal floor, which was my favourite past time when the others were away at their doctor appointments, but had no luck, for I was squashed. I tried grooming Jonty's filthy feathers, but my beak wouldn't ruffle through the gunk that was stuck there.
We talked to each other, pretending we were about to be rescued by lots of people in black, who were kind to us, and would take us to a farm, with lots of grain and worms to pull and peck at, and our beaks would miraculously grow back, and we would have an acre of land just to ourselves.
Then, as we had a little nap, the egg-collector came around. Her eyes were filled with the daily tears she always had when she came around with the trays, on the trolley. She gave my feathers a quick ruffle as she collected the eggs. Then, we heard the creak and clang, and Jack stood in the doorway again.
I was shocked. He never came at this time of day. He seemed very dishevelled, and said in that weird, human way of saying things, "Open cage 71 Anna."
Anna started to cry, but opened our cage. I was stiff with fear. The whole house held their breath.
Then, screeching, Jonty was pulled out, and another, younger hen was thrust in, her feathers thick and full, but her eyes very wide with fear.
Glassy began to cry, and Jonty yelled "I will never forget you!"
"We won't either!" we called back.
The neighbours were very sympathetic.
"We are sorry love," the next door neighbour said sadly, "But, today was just her day!"
I was crying out loud, chicken tears falling down my cheeks. My beak was flapping about in a frenzy of clucks and crooks.
I gave the newcomer a hug.
"Who are you?" I asked in a friendly, smiling voice.
"Dunno," she said, but her voice was soft and kind, "Do you have a name for me?"
I thought hard, then I whispered in Glassy's ear. She nodded, and tears slipped down her cheeks.
"Remembrance," I answered.
"Remembrance," repeated the new chicken, "I like it."
Then, the lights went out, and we all arranged to go to bed for the night.
Love to y'all,
neina-marie, a buzzin' bee