The Rooster's Proclamation 2.0

THE GOLDEN ROOSTER OF EGGORIA

Dawn breaks over the meticulously manicured landscape of Eggoria, where a magnificent golden rooster named Voxus struts atop the nation's tallest spire. His feathers gleam with artificial luster as he prepares for his daily proclamation to an audience that seems to shrink with each passing day.

Voxus puffed his chest and gazed across the pristine cityscape, admiring his reflection in the glass of a nearby skyscraper. The morning sun caught his golden plumage, casting fractured light across the empty plaza below.

"COCK-A-DOODLE-SUPREME!" he crowed, his voice echoing through speakers strategically placed throughout the nation. "Another perfect day in Eggoria, the most advanced henhouse in the world! Just look at me, the most splendid rooster that ever lived!"

He preened his golden feathers, deliberately ignoring the shadows that seemed to grow longer each day, despite the unchanging position of the sun.

"Why does the international barnyard continue to squawk about our 'problems'?" Voxus muttered to himself, pacing back and forth. "They're simply jealous of our magnificent bullet trains! Did you know they can travel from one end of our coop to the other in just two hours? Two hours! No other nation has trains as punctual and shiny as ours!"

The rooster paused, tilting his head to listen for applause that never came. In the silence, he thought he heard the faint sound of feathers rustling in cages far below.

"These foreign hens have the audacity to cluck about 'missing chickens' when they should be admiring our ancient culture. Our culture! Yes, we may have borrowed a few traditions from neighboring farms, but we've improved them! Made them more... Eggorian!"

Voxus scratched at the ground nervously, his talons clicking against the metal roof. In his reflection, he briefly saw himself as a simple farm rooster—before the gold plating, before the amplified crow.

"Ridiculous accusations," he whispered to himself. "So what if a few troublesome chicks no longer sing in our morning chorus? They were disrupting our harmony! Our perfect, mandatory harmony!"

The rooster's comb quivered with indignation as he strutted in increasingly tight circles, like a bird trapped in an invisible cage of his own making.

"COME VISIT EGGORIA!" he suddenly bellowed. "Tourists welcome! See our magnificent skyscrapers! Ride our spotless trains! Admire how our feathers shine brighter than yours! Why aren't you coming? WHY AREN'T YOU COMING?"

His voice cracked slightly as he peered over the edge at the empty tourist center below. Where once stood proud statues now stood only pedestals, their tops mysteriously smooth, as though history itself had been polished away.

"It must be those foreign roosters spreading lies," Voxus muttered. "Yes, that's it. They're jealous of our superior crowing technique. They fear our growing influence in the global henhouse."

The golden rooster stood taller, his shadow stretching across the empty plaza like a dark reminder of something he couldn't quite remember.

"We don't need them anyway! Eggoria is self-sufficient! Self-important! Self... self..."

For a brief moment, Voxus caught his reflection in a puddle of rainwater. Something about his golden-plated feathers seemed hollow in the morning light. Beneath the gleaming exterior, were there still real feathers? Or had they too been replaced with something more photogenic?

"Perhaps if we just built taller buildings," he whispered. "Or faster trains. Yes! Faster trains will solve everything!"

The rooster turned away from the edge, unable to face the emptiness below or the questions within. In the distance, he could see the silhouettes of countless empty nests, their occupants long vanished into the night while he had been busy practicing his morning crow.

"Did those chicks leave voluntarily?" he wondered for a fleeting second, before shaking the thought away like water from his wings. "No, no—they were lured away by foreign promises. That's the official morning bulletin."

A strange wind carried the scent of something burning—perhaps old feathers, perhaps old records—but Voxus inhaled deeply and convinced himself it was merely the smell of progress.

"COCK-A-DOODLE-DENIAL!" he crowed, as another day in Eggoria began.

In the streets below, the shadows of bars fell across empty sidewalks, creating patterns that looked suspiciously like cages when viewed from above—but Voxus never looked down for long enough to notice.