Dew sparkled on the sprawling palm fronds as the day began, while layers of warm air drifted by, carrying the scent of distant blooms.
Under a bright sun in a clear sky, its rays dancing through wispy clouds, the scent of warm earth and morning moisture spread over the fields of straw and palms.
At the edge of the village, the open straw field was ringed by simple huts made of palm fronds and hollowed tree trunks, while the tang of seaweed and dampness hung in the air.
In one corner of that open field, children played with a dried coconut shell, joyfully kicking it across the grass‑covered ground. Nearby, little hens pecked at scattered feed among the greenery, while a mother hen brooded over her soft straw nest, gently tucking her chicks beneath her wings.
The children chased the shell between kicks; their laughter rose and fell like a scattered rhythm above the soft breeze whispering through the straw.
Not far from this tranquil scene, a young villager woman sat weaving a basket of palm fronds. Her hands moved with lightness and precision, as if she were re‑drawing the very lines of nature itself.
Suddenly, the shell veered off course and struck a wild boar resting near the shrubs, rousing it from slumber. The boar's jolt shook a nearby palm trunk, the tremor traveling into the adjoining straw nest.
Instinctively, the mother hen flapped her wings. Under that force, a single egg slipped from the center of the nest, clattering across the sandy wood‑chip floor—"tap… tap…"—its shell cracking bit by bit with each bounce.
Startled by the unexpected tapping, the children stopped their game and stared in astonishment at the nest. In that moment, the woman rose from beside her basket, lifted it in one hand, and waved it at the boar to scare it off before hurrying to check on the hen.
She approached gently and soon spotted a cracked egg lying beside the nest. Scooping up the injured egg, she whispered tenderly,
"It's okay, little one… here you are."
She placed it back in the straw beside its mother, then turned to the children with a stern tone:
"Play far away from here. A hen's nest is sacred—do not touch it again!"
Reluctantly, the children drifted back to their game, this time kicking the shell more carefully. Calm swiftly returned to the field as everyone resumed their tasks. A light breeze brushed against the fractured shell, making it tremble. The cracked egg wobbled slowly, paused, then wobbled again. This repeated several times until one final sliver of shell fell away.
Light. Not light as I had known it before, but a kind of glow flooding the gray darkness that had held me. It was as though a thick membrane above me had loosened, leaving a narrow crack through which dim, warm—and yet confusing—rays streamed.
Something pressed on my chest. Heavy, suffocating. The air here was different. For a moment I thought I was drowning. There was no water, but my chest heaved with frantic breaths, seeking a pattern it had never known. Rapid inhales… then a longer one… and it felt as if my muscles—or whatever was like them—were learning how to pull this air in and push it back out.
I didn't know its name. I only felt it… entering. Cooling. Then leaving. Warming.
Air crept cautiously through the thin tear above my head, and with each hesitant breath my chest trembled slowly before settling into a gradual rhythm.
I lost track of time—each second slipped by with reassuring slowness until my breathing—huff… huff…—became as steady as my heartbeat.
I remained that way for an unmeasurable span, breathing as if for the very first time. Everything else felt postponed, as if the greatest challenge in life was simply to stay alive.
I closed my eyes for a moment to gather my scattered senses, then opened them to faint patches of light flickering at the top of my vision—mere flashes, no more. I saw no faces or distinct colors, only blurry shapes separated by threads of shadow.
Then came the next realization… sound. No, not a single sound: heartbeats. Thuds. Scratches. A faint creak. They came from every direction, but nearest was my own—my breathing, and something moving. Did I move? I didn't know.
I lifted my head, or at least I tried. Something of mine responded, but it didn't rise as I expected. I had no neck in any familiar sense… just a slight extension above a warm, damp body.
I wanted to touch my face, to confirm my form… so I pushed with what I thought were my arms. But they were not that. Two feather‑covered masses thrust out to my sides… not forward. I tried again but couldn't raise them toward my eyes. I couldn't see them at all.
Here confusion set in. My body would not obey. It was shorter, thinner, and strangest of all… without fingers.
My feet—if that's what they were—scratched at the surface beneath me. It was rough, slightly warm… dirt? Straw? I didn't know. I only recall the prickling under my feet when I tried to stand. I didn't know how. I shoved myself clumsily, veered sideways, and collided with a soft but curved wall… like a fragmented shell.
Then I remembered… the shell. I was inside something… I had been enclosed, and now I was out. I didn't know how or when, but I was free.
I felt cold… then the light grew stronger… then a breeze. I opened my eyes wider. My vision was still hazy. Mist danced above me, overlapping shadows, streaks of light slicing through the fog from above.
Everything felt alien. The sounds. The sensations. This body. Everything. And for some reason I didn't understand… it didn't feel like a dream.
I stumbled on my first step and halted to survey my surroundings—or so I thought. Space around me resembled a vast valley painted in soft straw‑yellow; everything seemed larger than life. The palm trunk that had enveloped me moments ago loomed giant enough to lean against, and the low grasses towered like trees in my imagination.
I lifted my gaze—or whatever that resembled—and glimpsed a gentle form moving beside the nest. At first I thought it a great rocky shape swaying in a light breeze. Then I heard it: a soft rustle, like raindrops pattering on trembling leaves.
Challenging myself, I tried again. I pushed from what I guessed was the top of my body using my "arms," but this time with more force. I felt a slight fullness in my torso, then fell to one side. I froze, listening to a faint throb in my chest, as if my tiny muscles were whispering, "Are you alright?"
After a moment, I sensed a subtle tremor in my little claws, followed by warmth leading me to a new experiment: I raised one foot—awkwardly—then the other. I took a short step, then another. It felt like a child learning to walk, but with the full awareness of a human mind in a different body.
I persevered at those steps. Each time I paused to draw deeper breaths, realizing that every few centimeters I covered meant a new adaptation. I felt a strange harmony forming between my small trunk and the low canopy overhead.
Then came the startling awareness: a gentle fluttering from the ends of what I thought were my arms. I felt something mysterious, as if those downy limbs could part the air. Carefully I lifted my arms again, and when I did, I sensed a slight contraction in small wing‑muscles—just like the tension before a launch. Nothing lifted me off the ground, but for the first time I realized I possessed tools I hadn't anticipated.
I backed away cautiously to take it all in, and my little heart raced in surprising rapidity. What had looked like a massive rocky form now revealed its true nature: a panel of pale yellow feathers, with a sturdy column rising upward from its body, splitting into two wings that spanned more than half the vista I saw.
My heart whispered in confusion, "What is this creature?"
As I approached, the being's features coalesced: it was alive, its feathers glowing in the morning light. I recoiled in astonishment, but it was no mountain—it was a living creature looking at me with two large, equally astonished eyes.
I felt warmth above me and opened my eyes further to see a single wing arch protectively over my body. The mother hen flapped once instinctively, nudging me forward into a hidden nook of the straw.
The pounding in my small chest quieted as I felt the soft warmth of the nest beneath my velvety claws. I looked down and saw beside me the shattered fragments of my eggshell—tiny shards gleaming in the morning sun.
In that moment, the last vestiges of my ignorance vanished with a delicate yet piercing clarity: I was no longer human but… a chick letting out its first chirp into a world it had yet to fully understand, while a single voice whispered within me:
"I am a chick."