The Were Rooster Votes for Better Chicken Feed
Voting is a sacred duty, one to be only taken upon with the greatest seriousness. It belongs to everyone, regardless of race, sex, religion, or what you do during the full moon. That’s Hank’s opinion, at least.
He’s tried to register as a minority, to get himself and his interests protected. Now his representatives are threatening him with restraining orders. His senators won’t return his phone calls. His mayor wants him tested for mental illness. At least the local judges just think he’s eccentric.
Also: Stacy doesn’t know about any of that. That’s important.
Regardless of whether the system recognizes him for himself, Hank continues to vote. He’s one of those inconsistent voters, bouncing from one party to another. If either had an interest in his concerns, maybe he’d show loyalty. Politicians are all scum who don’t believe in were-creatures.
If he ever gave it much thought, he would realize that a vote would eventually fall during the full moon. When it happens, Hank dismisses it. Poling closes long before the moon rises, so it’s fine. He plans to vote in the morning and thinks no more of it.
Naturally, things don’t go to plan. He gets called into work early — something stupid that shouldn’t be his problem. It’s stupid but takes forever, so he misses lunch and stays late. It’s almost six by the time he gets out. The polls stay open for another hour, so Hank heads there. He’s a good citizen, if nothing else.
A line winds out beyond the doors. A man with a clipboard patrols the area. “Since you’re here, you can still vote even if it gets late,” he tells the people near the end of the line. A few minutes after Hank arrives, he closes the line, which causes the next few arrivals to complain.
Hank tunes it out as he plays with his cell phone. It’s November, so it gets dark early. Already the sun is setting, and Hank feels twitchy. The voting takes place inside a school gym, where there are no windows. If he gets inside before the moon rises, maybe he’ll be okay. He has to be okay. He’s stuck on concrete, where he can’t go pecking for bugs or seeds. And no way is he getting out of line.
As the light decreases, Hank screws his eyes shut. The line should move faster than this, but he’s still stuck outside. “Come on.” He glares at the old lady in front of him. It’s not her fault, but she’d convenient. “How long does it take to vote?”
The man with the clip board shows up again. “Sorry. The machines went down,” he says as he walks past. He walks fast, so neither Hank nor anyone else has time to yell at him.
Clouds litter the sky, have done all day. From experience, Hank knows that will help. If he can’t see the moon, it won’t effect him as quickly. Now that the line is moving, he hopes. When the old lady steps inside, he pushes her further. She tuts at him but goes, pushing aside the person in front of her. Hank doesn’t care. He’s inside, fairly safe from the moon. Just in time.
It takes another thirty minutes for him to vote. Hank barely glances at the candidates and issues. He only slows down at one of the judges. That man favored a company over individual farmers, farmers who wanted better conditions and pay for their chickens. Hank votes the judge out.
Few people remain in the area. Hank waves at the old woman as he heads outside. It’s after eight, and he’s tired from the long day. He’s completely gotten distracted, and the clouds have moved on while he’s been inside. As such, he’s taken by surprise when he steps out into moonlight.
A stupid grin crosses his face, and his feet spread apart. He clucks as he walks to his jeep, arms folded and twitching at his side. His jeep is parked on the edge of the lot, next to the lawn. Hank walks past his jeep and into the grass, already bent over to search for bugs. The bugs here taste different than the ones in his backyard.
He isn’t sure how long he stays here. At some point, he hears someone say, “Maybe we shouldn’t have let that guy vote.” He doesn’t care, because he finds a succulent worm.
