5 minute freewrite day 119 - prompt: fried chicken

This story is in response @mariannewest 's prompt for day 113 of her 5-minute freewrite challenge. Today's prompt was fried chicken

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Me and Hank liked to think we were real daredevils, always challenging the other to increasingly dangerous feats. Well, a while back we’d trekked up to Mount Hyjekki to check out the lava flow there and we came across this spot where the flow ran through a deep crevasse. A pine tree had fallen over the top of the crevasse, making a kind of bridge.

"Think you can cross that? Or are you too chicken?" asked Hank.

Yet another game of chicken... despite the precarious-looking state of the fallen pine, I couldn't refuse, my pride forbade it. I hopped onto the log and started to make my way across. The lava flow was a long ways down, but it was still scorching hot. I could smell the pin sap being boiled and I could see that parts of the underside of the log had already started to char. About a third of the way across, the heat hit me full-on. I could barely breathe and the exposed skin on my hands and face felt like they were receiving an instant skin-cracking sunburn. It struck me then I was an idiot for trying this stunt and I went to turn around, but the log was too thin and I was no gymnast. After almost toppling, fight-or-flight responsivity set in and I bolted across the remainder of the fallen log as gracefully as a startled deer.

I lay my face down against the sweet coolness of the earth and grass on the other side, I looked up to see... Hank making his way onto the log.

“stop!” I called out. “I’m not kidding, Hank. Stop. It’s hotter than hell when you get up there, I got fried pretty good. And that log’s already roasted worse than it looks, I wouldn’t trust it to hold if I were you.”

“Well hey there, Captain Safety,” said Hank, “you trusted it enough for yourself. Why the sudden concern for me, huh? You think I'm gonna sit here like a big old chicken?”

With that and before I could get in another word, Hank sauntered out onto the log. Then his saunter turned to a scurry. Then a scamper. Then he started to scream. Then, within the last foot of safety, he tripped up on a jutting branch. He fell forwards. limbs flailed.

And he landed directly in my waiting arms. I pulled him the rest of the way back from the crevasse. As we lay there, I turned to look at Hank. His face and hands were pocketed with boils. He started laughing. "See, told ya I'm no chicken!"

Good old Hank. After we'd rested up enough to walk back down the mountain, we drove out to KFC and had ourselves a big old bucket of fried chicken to celebrate our being alive and stupid as ever.