The Hen House

“Come on. You can trust me,” she said – and I foolishly opened the gates. Once inside, she became like a Tasmanian devil, ripping out the lining of my heart and devouring secrets. I was the chicken that let in the fox; then watched as it ate my peers. She brushed against me on her way out; fangs dripping, full bellied, and arrogant. Lost trust doesn't easily grow back. Time passed, but not enough. Her belly grew empty and she came back with the same words. “Come on. You can trust me.” I must look like a fool.