"I'm going to be a chicken, actually," Becky said, eyes on her shoes, casually scratching her elbow.
"Oh, I see!" Mr Jones said. "That's a lovely creature to be. There's a good kinship between the female chickens,
and they're very useful to society."
"I know, but I just... don't think I want to be an animal," Becky said. She could see it now; her thighs would
swell, fattening out into the kind of drumsticks she could see displayed in Mr Jones shop. Her face would be
adorned by a big yellow beak, her body covered in feathers. And what would become of her in the end? She didn't
really know how chickens were kept, or how their fates were decided.
Becky just smiled and took off from the shop. Her transformation was scheduled for tomorrow, and she wanted to
enjoy her last evening of humanity.