Me and my aunt. We put a whole frozen chicken into the microwave. After the frost is gone, it starts moving.

“Boiling moisture”, we think. Then, the chicken awakens. “Leave it to boil, lobsters are boiled alive after all”, says my aunt. “No! We’re microwaving a live animal! That’s torture!”, I scream in panic. We switch the microwave off. Chicken — out. No skin, hellish red meat, severe burns. It tries to scream but can’t. I need to put it out of its misery, NOW.

Aunt says “hold it against the table, I’m going to break its neck”. I oblige, and she proceeds to crush its neck with a two-by-four. It turns out, the neck is basically rubber and doesn’t budge. I have a better idea: let’s do something to its brain directly. I take a pin and proceed to find its skull. But there is no skull to be found, just a capri-sun for its head, with a small pocket of something squishy. The chicken keep wheezing loudly, desperate to scream. I poke that pouch with a pin. It splits in half, spilling the insides — gray chalk.

“It’s gone”, says aunt. “Its suffering is over”.

I sigh in relief. That was quite a cooking experience.

Thank god I woke up. It was just a dream.