by Ashley Pennock
I left for college heartbroken. I took my heart in
two pieces
and shredded into
fries.
My parents went back to the home I left behind, and I wandered into the basement alone. I found
chicken
down there, and decided maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here. I
battered
my chest in
breadcrumbs, and
fried
it whole again. When I dread leaving home after break, I remember
chicken
on my tongue. I settle in, and I remember why I love it here. People say the place is generic—bland—but I tell them my ex-boyfriend dumped me for hating spicy food and now I eat
plain chicken
to spite him. They are more
tender
than he ever was. I love them more. No one says they will miss
chicken
the most when they graduate, but I do. Now where will I
roost
after dark?
Ashley Pennock is a young writer from New Jersey and current English Writing major at the University of Pittsburgh. She enjoys writing fantasy, experimental, and LGBTQ+ stories. Her work has been included in Alternative Milk Magazine, Maudlin House, redrosethorns journal and others.