Hypnosis-Sleep

I’m foolishly running deep within an unfamiliar and intimidating jungle. Different shades of Green unevenly blur past my vision, and the red hot African sun unmercifully beats down on my neck. Its rage further ignites the burning sensation of my many mosquito bites, making the illusion of an omnipresent inferno. I am sweating profusely, and as I scramble over the falling branches of mango trees and plantain weeds, I grow more aggravated and exhilarated. I see my target ahead and pursue it with obvious monomania, “I WILL catch you!” Like a predator, I continue the chase of my target with laser beam focus; it turns left, I turn left; it turns right, I turn right. It cannot match my speed the way I cannot match its agility. The gap between us closes slowly but surely; I WAS going to capture it. Gasping for air, I throw my hands in front of me and reach out towards my prey. Its tail seduces my fingers as it wobbles back and forth and nearly brushes me, but as I reached out to seize it, all I got was a few loose feathers and a mud stamped face as I tripped over a surfaced tree root. I caught a final glimpse of my target’s cherry red comb as it fled.

Those gruesome 30 minutes or so were exhausting and humiliating. The task of catching one of the many chickens that freely ran approximately my grandfather’s Nigerian compound was a regular success I loved. This specific rooster but, was of the highest course in its breed. It would not be subdued as easily. As I pondered my next go, I emerged out of the woods and felt the soil and leaves of the jungle change into the sandy dirt complexion of my grandfather’s backyard. I saw Toochukwu, a 16 year ancient Nigerian boy who helped my grandparents with their chores, on his knees washing laundry and approached him. Looking up with a slight pause he questioned, “Ke ebe okuko di?” Igbo for “Where is the chicken.” I shook my head and he smirked. He joked approximately how I was unable to catch a mere chicken and we started wrestling playfully, but it didn’t final long for we had to get back to our individual chores.

Regaining focus, I thought of the rooster. I imagined its cherry red comb, pretentiously brilliant. I knew that it would eventually come out of the woods and so I went to the chicken pens. Unconfined chickens generally ran approximately in this area. Typically someone tended to the chicken pens, but when I arrived no one was present. I sat down in the lift chairs and observed the seven chicken pens that made a semicircle along the woods and opened out towards my grandpa’s house. I counted nearly twenty roaming chickens in the area, all irrelevant to my pursuit. They were all pecking at something in the dirt; I leaned over to see them nabbing at tiny grains of rice. The chickens pecked intensively on the ground laid rice with robotic accuracy and innate naturalness. Near one the chicken pens, I saw a rather large bag of rice. Curious, I grabbed a handful and threw it inside one of the chicken pens. There was an instant frenzy of chicken feet scrambling to devour as much of the handful as possible. Even the unconfined chickens rushed over to peck at the rice that fell to ground. The chickens that pecked aggressively near my feet seemed to be oblivious of my presence.

I sat down again. The chickens were calming and the tempo of their heads bobbing up and down returned to normal. I waited, watching chickens come and go. Then I saw it, the bright cherry red comb of the rooster I had been seeking, lurking behind one of the chicken pens. I went cautiously towards it, and then stopped. I changed my path towards the bag of rice, keeping an eye on the rooster at all times. I slowly grabbed a handful of rice, waited for stillness, and then threw it into the semicircle that the chicken pens made. All hell broke lose as the chickens scrambled to claim their prizes. The rooster emerged from its hiding place to partake in the feast. I crept behind it while its attention was diverted, then pounced swiftly. Mission accomplished.