The Chicken Line

In a small Texas town, residents await their turn to buy chicken in a sluggish queue. A palpable sense of foreboding lingers, heightened by the presence of a stranger in the line. However, as the story unfolds, it is not the stranger who is the threat but a familiar face among the townspeople — one that undergoes a metamorphosis. As the story progresses, the face takes the shape of the community’s worst fear: a mythical monster recognized by some from Mexican folklore.

Written by Jendayi Brooks-Flemister and appearing in Constelación Magazine, “The Chicken Line” encourages introspective reading. The textual monster appears as a trap door in the story, beckoning readers to step through and confront their individual anxieties toward foreignness and difference.

– Raaza Jamshed for Guernica Global Spotlights

As Mrs. Wilson jumped out of her husband’s Dodge, edge of her lavender mop dress in hand, and planted herself firmly at the end of the line, her heart sank. There were at least a dozen others ahead of her, and there were never guarantees that everyone in line would walk out with what they’d come for. She huffed, trying to catch her breath and formulate just how much the people in front of her would buy before she could get up front. She leaned to the left to see who was at the front, but caught the eye of Maribel, an acquaintance from working at the clothing factory together. Maribel waved eagerly and gestured to the spot in front of her, to which Mrs. Wilson smiled curtly and shook her head no. She could feel people in line looking back at her, causing her already sweat-covered plump cheeks to grow even warmer in embarrassment. There was no way she’d skip in the chicken line, no matter how ready Maribel was to break the rules. She’d rather risk getting stuck with necks and feet and wingtips than get caught by the Farmer skipping and be forced to leave with nothing.

While Maribel waved at whoever was in the back to come forward, Joseph Lewis, seventh in line, felt his anger rise. It was bad enough they were out here boiling in the heat on a Thursday —his day off!— waiting for the Farmer to parse out rations for those who’d placed orders in advance