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As I sit in my dark box, waiting for the next time I'll be pulled out to bring laughter to someone's face, I often wonder about the meaning of life. I'm just a rubber chicken, but all I've ever known is people laughing and smiling when they see me. I've been squeezed, tossed, and paraded around by men with painted faces, and I still can't figure out what's so funny about me. Is it my bright yellow beak, my floppy wings, or my silly squeak? I've met real chickens before, and they seem to have a different life altogether - they peck at food, cluck with each other, and roam freely. Me, I just sit here, waiting to be squeezed again, and I never get hungry or thirsty. It's weird. Sometimes I'll be left out on a table or a shelf, and people will pick me up, squeeze me, and laugh. I've even been used as a prop in silly skits and jokes. But when the show is over, I'm locked back in my box, alone with my thoughts. I wish I could understand why I exist, why I'm so funny to everyone, and why I'm stuck in this never-ending cycle of laughter and silence. All I can do is sit here, wait, and squeak when someone squeezes me, wondering what it's all about.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1YbjOgXshy
