I wasn’t always just a boneless, skinless slab of potential. No, I once lived a life full of movement, warmth, and feathers. I came from a proud lineage of chickens raised under the open skies of a bustling farm. My mother was known for her golden eggs, my siblings for their plumpness and lively chatter. Life on the farm was simple but rich—pecking at grains, scratching the soil, basking in the sun.

Then one day, everything changed. They say every chicken has its day, and mine had come. My brief, squawking life on the farm was exchanged for what I would come to understand as destiny. Yes, dear reader, destiny: to become nourishment, an ingredient in countless human culinary dreams.

I arrived at the processing plant—an intimidating place of shiny machines and sharp sounds. It was there I shed my feathers, my bones, and even my name. No longer a chicken, I became Chicken Breast. Wrapped in plastic and stamped with a sell-by date, I took my place in the cold, fluorescent-lit aisles of a supermarket, lying among my kin on a bed of ice.

Oh, the stories I overheard there! Whispers of marinades, rubs, and roasts from shoppers planning meals for their families. Some of my companions ended up as golden fried nuggets, others as the star of a summery Caesar salad. I dreamed of my future, hoping to be chosen not for mundane meal prep but for something grand—perhaps a sizzling chicken parmigiana or a smoky grilled masterpiece.

My turn finally came. A kind-faced shopper reached for me with an appraising look, dropped me into their cart, and carried me to my next adventure. The journey from the supermarket to their fridge was brief but thrilling. It was there, nestled between jars of pickles and tubs of yogurt, that I awaited my final transformation.

What’s next for me, you ask? Will I be diced and thrown into a hearty soup? Pounded thin and wrapped around asparagus? Or perhaps slathered in a zesty barbecue sauce and grilled to perfection? My fate is no longer in my hands—well, if I had hands—but in yours.

Through it all, I take solace in knowing that I, a humble chicken breast, will become part of something greater. I will bring flavor, nourishment, and joy to someone’s day. That is my legacy, and for that, I am proud.

The End.

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢁⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠉⠉⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⢡⣴⣶⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢋⣠⣶⣿⣿⡟⡛⣛⣿⣦⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠘⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠁⠀⢛⡠⠀⠀⠀⢀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿
⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢁⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣥⡄⠀⠙⠂⠀⠀⢻⡟⢉⣺⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸
⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣈⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠟⠁⣿⣿⢶⣶⣦⣄⣀⣈⣿⣿⣬⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿
⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠭⣿⣿⣷⣤⣤⣶⣤⡿⠻⢷⣦⣤⣉⣻⣿⣶⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⢿
⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠰⣶⣶⣄⡀⠉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣭⡅⠀⠐⠛⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠈⠙⠂⢠⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⢋⣼
⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⡉⠉⠉⠙⠓⠶⠾⢿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣈⣤⣤⡦⠈⠀⢀⣠⡴⡴⠋⣠⣿⣿
⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠈⠂⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢁⣠⣴⣿⡿⢋⠔⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡿⢋⠔⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣿⣿⣿⣿⡐⠆⣠⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⣠⣄⠀⣿⠏⠀⢁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠿⠛⠻⠋⢀⣼⠋⢠⣶⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⠸⠧⢼⡿⠀⠋⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⢁⣴⠀⣠⣴⣶⡿⠃⠀⣿⣿⣿⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣶⣿⣷⣄⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣟⡿⠟⠋⣀⣴⣿⠏⢸⣿⣿⡏⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⣤⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⡿⠟⠋⠉⣭⡙⢶⣌⠛⢡⣼⢿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡿⣿⡇⢠⣶⣿⡿⠉⠀⣼⣿⢿⡀⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢿⡿⠟⣋⣴⣾⡿⠟⣉⣀⣀⣤⣷⡇⠘⣿⢦⠍⠳⣤⠁⠸⠯⢍
⠀⠀⠸⠯⠿⣷⣾⡇⠈⠛⠋⡄⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠋⣿⠟⢛⣩⠴⠂⣡⣴⣿⣿⠟⠁⣠⡾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⣿⡄⣆⠰⠎⣷⣄⠀⣸
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣤⣭⣴⣾⣿⣿⡿⠋⠠⣶⣶⠚⣓⣀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡘⢿⣿⡇⢦⠜⢿⡆⠫
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠐⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠱⢸⣦⠈⣿⣦
⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣶⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡻⣻⠿⠿⡿⣦⢸⣷⣤⡞⢿