Munesu Kuzanga

Contributing Writer




When I woke up on April 10, I must admit that I could barely open my eyes. My mind was still trying to recover from the night before, and my body was experiencing the type of pain one would after working out for the first time in 10 years for 10 minutes. I thought I hadn’t been dancing that hard the night before until I tried to climb out of bed and my hips said otherwise. I was embarrassed – appalled. How did I end up like this? I did not know. However, I didn’t even want to think about the details from that night because all I wanted to think about was you: my chicken wings.

Every Tuesday at 7 p.m. in Kittredge, I would be one of the first people in line for you. My friends always laughed at my commitment to you, but I did not care because I looked forward to having you in my stomach every week. They did not approve of our relationship and it was shown in how they would constantly tease me about how you were always undercooked and lacked flavor. I never listened because they never understood that all you needed was a little bit of salt and appreciation in your life. They did not understand that even when I knew you weren’t good for me, I could not resist you as I would often dream of you in my sleep. 

My addiction for you was one that would go down in history as a forbidden passion for I have climbed hills of snow and sweaty athletes just to take you home. You were worth the judgmental stares and fist fights (that I often lost) and not because you were just a meal swipe. It was because you were two. I was a selfish lover, I must admit, but only because I had your best interest in heart.

So, as you can see, despite what the haters said about us, I was going to walk across campus for you no matter the weather or cost. You were a reason to wake up on a Tuesday morning, and before that terrible incident on April 10, you were the best reason to wake up on a Sunday morning following a chaotic night.

When I woke up that Sunday morning, I dragged myself to the kitchen for you even though you were way past your edible time frame. But I honestly didn’t care because I was sick enough to get sicker with your warm embrace in my stomach. I was ready to gamble with my life, just as long as I took a bite of you.

So, as you can imagine how I felt when… I found you… lying there. EVERYWHERE!

Your little bones were scattered on the floor. One of the to-go boxes was open, and the other was dismantled as if the thieves were trying to eat that too. You were cleaned, sucked and devoured by an evil greater than an 8 a.m. class in winter. You were in shambles, and you were disrespected by a heinous group of what could have been a gang of shameful lowlife rats who walk around campus as faceless humans. I was disrespected in ways that sent me into orbit.

I am just so sorry that I did not lock you up in a separate fridge during the party. I just thought that monsters only existed in children’s books. I just thought that people had the type of etiquette one learned at the age of two days old but turns out I missed the training course during new student orientation where we were taught to open fridges in other people’s homes.  If I had known that we were inviting thieves to the party, then I would have at least tried to eat you two days earlier to avoid such a tragic death. But just the thought of another stranger’s touch on you makes me squeal. I just wished that the culprits could’ve at least thrown you in the bin… but no. They wanted me to find you scattered all over the kitchen floor. It was a crime scene. I almost called Security — until I saw one of your remains on the bathroom floor. At that moment, I knew that this criminality was beyond the power of law enforcement. If I was not a prayerful woman before, that morning changed my life. I just knew that I had to get the pope, the Avengers and my therapist on this one too.

The thieves did not care about you or me. And thinking about what could have happened to you, eats away at me. I walk past strangers everyday who smile at me. I have my suspicions about who could have eaten you, but I am never certain so I smile back at these people. But I can never trust again. So, although it has been weeks since you passed, I just want to say one last thing to you, my beautiful chicken wings: I hope you gave those monsters salmonella.

Written by

Chloe Burdette

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