A Chicken Story (Part 1)

     On a chilly, gray morning in the Left Wing District of Pullet City, a young one sat by the table, along with five siblings, shoving crunchy generic grocery store cereal in their mouths in the shady kitchen. Their foster mother watched over them with the a stern look on her face, making sure they were eating and making sure the weren't misbehaving. All six of them came from different mothers, all into this small house with a gate in front, and a narrow hallway leading to their apartment, with a lot in the back, to be cared for by one foster mother. The young one had only one picture of her mother. In the picture, the hen was ashy black, like herself, and showed a happy smile. The mother was sitting next to the young one's father, whose face was shaded by a hat, so it was hard to tell what his face looked like. This picture is all that the young one knew about her mother.
     In her neighborhood, it was best to be part of the clique. If people knew who you were, you had more power. In her neighborhood, there was streets of one or two apartment homes, along with mini markets, and a few small restaurants around the corner. There was also the grocery store, where her family went each week to stock up. It was quiet, with a few people walking on each block with their heads down, trying not to look at anybody funny, because you never knew what could happen next. The young one, whose name was Angel, was one of these people. Sometimes, she considered herself a nobody, just another person walking through these same streets, one of six adopted children, in a neighborhood nobody knows about, except the people who lived there. However, although she wasn't in the clique now, she had the potential to do great, to amaze people. She was named Angel for a reason.