Top 10 First-Person Short Stories Depicting the Fate and Sorrows of Abandoned Fighting Roosters (Grade 10 Literature)

I am a renowned fighting rooster, always victorious in every match, known to all as Oanh Liệt, a name my owner gave me. I mention this just to remind myself of the glorious past I once had, though it’s hard to forget the miserable situation I find myself in now, abandoned by my owner. Allow me to tell you my story – 'The Life of a Proud Rooster.'

I grew up in a rural area, plagued by poverty and arid land, where food was scarce even for humans, let alone for the chickens. To avoid hunger, we had to fight each other for scraps. As the youngest in my family, I was spoiled by my parents like a 'prince' – a term I borrowed from the 'Frog Prince' story I heard on the neighbor's radio. When food was plentiful, my parents mostly fed me, leaving the rest for my siblings. This made me the strongest chicken in the family. Pampered and proud, I became arrogant, cocky, and competitive. The local hens didn’t care for me, though I was strong and full of life. But I didn’t mind. Who could see the 'hidden beauty' in me? Sometimes, I wondered if I should go on a journey to make everyone notice me.

One day, my prediction came true. A man came to our place looking for strong chickens to bring to the city for cockfighting. Just as I had hoped, I posed proudly, showing off my strength. Eventually, I was one of the three chosen. I was ecstatic. At the time, I had no idea what the city was like, I just thought it was the place where I could show off my talents.

After a long journey, I, along with two other roosters, arrived at a house, likely the home of my new owner. This place was nothing like my old home. It was a proper house made of walls, while my home was a simple hut, hot in the sun and leaky in the rain. Life there had been difficult, but here, I was well taken care of. I was fed well and no longer had to worry. The new environment and comfort made me forget my old family.

Shortly after, my owner began taking me to places where people gathered, which I later learned were cockfighting arenas. Some of the chickens there looked as strong and fit as I did. The first time I entered the arena, my owner gave me many instructions, all of which I understood but could not respond to. The arena was packed with spectators. That day, I faced off against a rooster with a legendary fighting record. I was worried, but not scared. My opponent was formidable, but I wasn’t going to back down. I puffed up my chest and fought with all my might, cornering him with no escape. I won my first match gloriously, and my owner gave me the name 'Oanh Liệt' to commemorate the victory. I went on to win more matches, becoming famous in the cockfighting world. With every win, my arrogance grew. Whenever I saw another rooster, I looked down on it. I became very proud of myself, and those were the brightest days I would never forget.

But then... I grew old. I wasn’t as fast or strong as I once was, but I still trained with my owner to keep fighting. One morning, as usual, my owner took me to the arena. This time, he repeatedly told me I had to win. My opponent this time wasn’t as strong as me, so I thought I would easily win. But once the fight started, I underestimated him, even giving him a step forward. It was a huge mistake. He attacked me relentlessly, and my sharp talons and spurs could no longer do much. I was defeated miserably. The crowd jeered, and those who had bet on me struck me in anger. The worst part was when my owner angrily scooped me up, threw me into his car, and rushed me to a strange and noisy place filled with a foul stench.

By coincidence, I met an old friend from my village, another rooster that my owner had raised. But now, we both found ourselves in the same place. We looked at each other, 'Invincible' and 'Oanh Liệt,' but not as we once were. We could only remember our glorious past, feeling the pain of being reduced from strong roosters to mere shadows of our former selves. I thought I would just lie there, waiting for my owner to come and take me back. But then, Invincible was taken away by a man, and I only heard his final cry before silence fell. I began to feel afraid, lying there waiting for something dreadful to happen to me, just as it had to Invincible.

As a fighting rooster, my simple joy was having enough food to eat and being loved by my owner. To make that happen, I had to be a brave and powerful rooster. However, life doesn’t always go as planned. I once believed I was my owner's closest companion, yet there were times when I was abandoned without a second thought.

Since I was young, I lived in the love and care of my owner. He built me a sturdy little house, fed me every day, and even talked to me. My owner would tell me to eat well so I could grow and become a champion fighting rooster. His dream became my dream as well. I longed to compete with other fighting roosters and repay him for all the care he had given me.

Each day, my owner taught me various skills—running, kicking, pecking, and flapping my wings. Before long, I had become a mighty fighting rooster. My body grew muscular, my neck stretched long, and my legs bulged with strength, making me look even more formidable. Anyone who saw me would surely be intimidated. My owner seemed pleased with my appearance, often rewarding me with fat, juicy worms.

As a fighting rooster, my purpose was to fight in the arena. Finally, the day I had been waiting for arrived. My owner fed me well and took me to a place filled with a large crowd of people. They were eager to watch us fight. I puffed out my chest, looking around at the other roosters who might become my opponents, feeling confident that I would emerge victorious. I won the first match, then the second, just as my owner had hoped. Many people offered to buy me, but my owner refused. This only motivated me to work harder to show my gratitude.

After defeating most of my opponents, I faced my final match alongside my owner. He believed in me, and I believed in myself. My opponent was an older, more experienced rooster, but I still felt confident. I charged into the fight, while my opponent dodged my attacks. It wasn’t until I grew tired that he began to strike back. My overconfidence and inexperience led to my defeat. My owner's disappointed gaze shattered my heart. I promised myself to improve for the next fights, but things didn’t go as planned. I kept losing, bruised and battered. My owner no longer trusted me, and slowly, I faded into the background. I was no longer his companion in the battles.

My owner brought in a new fighting rooster. Looking at it, I saw the reflection of my former self. Every day, my owner trained it just like he had trained me, speaking to it as he had once spoken to me. But I was forgotten. My daily meals were reduced to a few grains of rice and a sip of water. I felt useless, isolated in my pen, alone.

Then, one day, my owner approached my cage and asked:

- Hey, are you feeling better? I’m sorry for neglecting you. It’s time for you to show what you can do.

My owner picked me up and took me to the arena once again. This time, I didn’t disappoint him. I won the final match and brought him a large reward. After that victory, my owner and I became close once more.

Life is truly unpredictable. Just last week, I was a proud fighting rooster, undefeated in every battle, but now, I lie in a corner, almost dead from hunger and cold, if not for the kindness of a thirteen-year-old boy. You might be confused, wondering what I'm talking about, but it’s not hard to understand when I tell you that I was abandoned while sick and taken in by this boy who cared for me.

I still remember not long ago, I was the most famous fighting rooster in the area. I was young, strong, and well taken care of by my owner, with both health and beauty in abundance. My glossy black feathers would shimmer in the sunlight, and my bright red comb always stood tall, making the younger roosters look up to me in admiration. My powerful legs could withstand any heavy blows from opponents trying to break my spirit. My sharp eyes never missed a move, and no surprise attack ever caught me off guard. Even my toughest opponents would show their weaknesses before me. With a wealthy owner and my superior strength, every battle I fought ended in victory, and I was proud of myself. After each win, my owner would praise me and reward me with delicious food. That was enough to make me feel loved and trusted. But life is never as peaceful as it seems. I remember the day I learned the harsh reality, just a week ago, when I faced a formidable opponent. He was large, strong, and experienced. He toyed with me, playing a 'cat and mouse' game, and in the end, I couldn’t take it anymore. I charged at him, but he knocked me down with ease.

The pain was immense, and I knew it wasn’t just a blow to my pride—it was a broken leg. I thought the pain would subside once my owner took me home to heal, but sadly, after my defeat and a crippled leg, I was treated as useless and discarded without hesitation. It was then that I realized I was nothing more than a toy to my owner—once broken, I was tossed aside without a second thought. I wondered if humans still had any conscience when they treated animals who once entertained them like this. I had helped my owner win countless victories in past battles, yet he turned his back on me when I was sick. Though my wound had stopped bleeding, the pain still lingered, and the cold wind only made it worse, chilling my heart.

I was cold, hungry, and in pain... with no other choice but to wait for death. With my crippled leg, there was nowhere to go, and even if I could, where would I go? I was disappointed, ashamed, and bitter, lying on a street corner as the wind howled through the trees, eventually falling asleep. I didn’t know how long I had slept, only that when I awoke, the sun was high, and the noises of the street reached my ears, the sunlight blinding my eyes. I remained motionless, still wondering why I hadn’t died from the cold and pain the night before. But something stirred within me—maybe it was the will to live, or the reason I hadn’t died yet. I decided I wanted to live, to keep going, even though I had been abandoned. I pushed myself up, dragging my lifeless leg, searching for something to eat and keep me going. It was late afternoon, and my stomach was still empty, leaving me weak and exhausted. I had managed to crawl out of the dark corner, but I didn’t have the strength to go further. I collapsed, thinking my life was over. But then, a hand reached down to lift me.

- Oh, where did this beautiful rooster come from? That leg must hurt terribly. Maybe my mother knows how to treat your wound?

At first, I thought it was an angel come to take me to the heavens. But when I opened my eyes, I saw a young boy with bright eyes and a warm smile. He took me home and let his mother tend to my wound. From then on, I lived with the boy, healed and cared for. I not only escaped death but also found a home where I was loved and cared for. I came to believe in the kindness of people again, and there are truly good-hearted people in this world, like my young benefactor.

Now, my life is much better, and the boy treats me like a dear friend. This is the life I’ve always dreamed of. Sometimes, I think back and realize that I should thank my last opponent for leading me to this beautiful life.

The sun rose, casting a soft pink glow across the clear, refreshing summer morning sky. I stretched out, flapping my wings energetically before crowing loudly to wake everyone up… In the distance, I could already spot the woodcutter heading into the forest. The old rabbit was busy with something outside his burrow, moving sluggishly as if still half-asleep. On a high branch, a sparrow family chirped merrily, hopping from one branch to another. The mischievous squirrel poked its head out of its den, greeting the new day. And so, another day began. I fluffed up my glossy feathers and sharpened my talons, ready to jump down from my mound and begin a new hunt for food.

I am a rooster, born into the proud line of fighting roosters—known for their strength and aggression. I have a tall, muscular body, a firm chest, keen eyes, and a beak as tough as steel. My long, shiny feathers and razor-sharp talons are my main weapons in the ring. My life in this beautiful forest has been a series of ups and downs, full of memories I will never forget. My father was a famous fighting rooster, known throughout the region. He was taken care of by an owner, Mr. Nam, who was passionate about rooster fights and particularly admired our aggressive breed.

From the day I was born, I witnessed countless battles where my father competed. It was no surprise that everyone knew him—he was Mr. Nam's undefeated champion rooster, winning a hundred battles without a single loss. Mr. Nam was immensely proud of him and treated him like royalty. Unlike other fighting roosters, my father was given exceptional care, and I too benefitted from that same attention. But sadly, after many battles, my father fell ill and passed away. As the son of such a legendary bird, and with my own imposing figure and strength, Mr. Nam decided to train me as his second pride and joy, just as he had with my father. I did not disappoint him. I grew stronger and more impressive every day, my chest becoming more solid and red, my feathers shiny and well-kept, and my talons long and sharp. I could tell I was handsome, for whenever I strutted by, the hens would bow their heads in shyness. Soon enough, Mr. Nam began taking me to fight.

At first, I felt uneasy when I saw the fighting ring. The older, scarred birds in the arena made me long for the safety of my home. The arena was a place where the men of the village gathered, and despite my impressive physique, standing there with hundreds of eyes watching me made me anxious. In the first round, two large, weathered roosters faced off. The fight was intense, and after many back-and-forth attacks, one rooster, with his sleek black feathers, seized an opportunity, catching his opponent off guard and landing a blow that left the other rooster with a bloodied eye. I shuddered, thinking that one day, I too might suffer a similar fate.

The second round was my very first fight. My opponent was a handsome rooster with golden-brown feathers, strong legs, sharp eyes, and massive talons. At first, I lacked confidence, but seeing the cocky attitude of my rival pushed me to prove myself. The cheers from the crowd spurred me on, and I entered the fight with renewed determination. The battle began with light exchanges, but my opponent, dismissing me as weak, underestimated me. My fighting spirit ignited, and I attacked relentlessly. Though my opponent was formidable, his arrogance led to his downfall. I defeated him, and the cheers of the crowd felt like a great reward for my effort. From then on, Mr. Nam treated me with even more care and pride, showing me off as his precious treasure. I basked in that pride.

From that day forward, I became invincible, much like my father. Every fight was a victory, and I watched my opponents fall one by one. But with victory came arrogance, and soon I began to underestimate my enemies. Some battles, though I won, left me wounded. One day, Mr. Nam took me to the arena again, where fighters from nearby villages awaited. I had crushed every rooster before, but this time, I was facing a completely new challenger. He was tall, strong, and exuded an air of nobility and grace. I, however, dismissed him as just another fool who would soon fall before me. But to my surprise, things did not go as I imagined. I was overconfident and careless, and the enemy rooster landed several dangerous blows. After a brutal struggle, I realized I was exhausted, while my opponent fought with increasing intensity. In the end, I was defeated, overpowered by his strength and determination.

When I awoke, I found myself in a clean cage, my body aching all over. My throat was dry, and I expected Mr. Nam to come care for me. But hours passed, and the sun began to set without a visit. The sounds of chicks calling for their mothers and sparrows chirping filled the air, but it was only when the evening darkened that I saw someone approach. By then, I was too weak to move, barely clinging to life as I was lifted and then harshly thrown onto the cold, hard ground.

When I opened my eyes, the blinding light made my wounds sting. After a long pause, I gathered enough strength to rise. My body was bruised and battered, but I managed to stand. The surroundings were unfamiliar. I was no longer in the comfortable cage I once knew but in a vast, wild area surrounded by trees and the sound of birds chirping. A sharp pain in my right ear revealed a deep wound, and the memories flooded back. Mr. Nam, the one who had once been so proud of me, had discarded me like a useless tool. But I was still alive! Someone had saved me. Who could it be?

Stunned and confused, I saw an old grey rabbit approach me. Surprised, I backed away a bit.

- So, the young rooster is awake? Your wounds are serious. You've been through a life-or-death battle, and unfortunately, you're the defeated soldier left behind!

- The rabbit spoke with a playful tone.

- Who are you? Why am I here?

- I found you at the edge of the forest, crying out for water, so I brought you here.

- You saved me?

- I didn't save you, young rooster! I just didn't abandon you.

Indeed, the old rabbit hadn't abandoned me when I needed help the most. Unlike Mr. Nam, who threw me into the wilderness like a discarded object. I felt choked up and hugged the rabbit tightly, saying:

- Can I stay here in this forest?

- Of course! Stay with us, live simply, gather food, and avoid the pointless struggles of the human world!

Since then, I have lived a simple life as a regular rooster, waking each day with a crow to greet the dawn. Though I no longer live the life of glory, admired as a treasure, I will never again experience the pain of being discarded.

I was once a famous fighting rooster, known for never losing a match. My master called me "Oanh Liệt"—a name that echoed the glory of my past victories. But now, I find myself abandoned by the very hands that once cared for me. Allow me to share my story—"The Life of a Proud Rooster".

I was born in a poor village, where food was scarce, and survival meant fighting for every scrap. As the youngest in my family, I was spoiled by my parents, treated like a "prince"—a nickname I borrowed from a story I once heard on the neighbor's radio. Whenever food was plentiful, my parents gave me the lion's share, leaving just enough for my siblings. Perhaps that’s why I grew to be the biggest and strongest rooster in the family. But with that strength came arrogance, pride, and an unshakable belief that I was destined for something greater. The hens around me, despite my impressive physique and vitality, didn’t seem to appreciate my beauty. I thought to myself, "Maybe it’s time to leave and show the world who I really am."

One fateful morning, a man arrived in our village, looking for strong roosters to bring to the city for cockfighting. As expected, I posed and displayed my strength, eager to be noticed. And sure enough, I was chosen as one of the three roosters. I couldn’t contain my excitement. At that time, I had no idea what the city was like—I just thought it was a place where I could showcase my talent.

After a long journey, I, along with two other roosters, was brought to a house—likely my new master's home. It was a far cry from the humble dwelling I had known. This house was made of sturdy walls, unlike my old home where we lived under thatched roofs, enduring the heat of the sun and the rain that leaked through. But those struggles were behind me now. I was well-fed and well-cared for, in a new environment that made me quickly forget my old family.

After a while, my new master began taking me to places where people gathered in large numbers—what I would later learn were cockfighting arenas. Some of the roosters there were as powerful as I was. The first time I stepped into the arena, my master gave me many instructions. I listened, though I didn’t respond. It was my debut, and I was facing a seasoned champion. I felt nervous, but not afraid. The opponent was formidable, but did I look any less impressive? I lifted my head high, showing off my powerful frame, and used all my strength to push my opponent into a corner. I won the first battle in grand fashion, earning the name "Oanh Liệt" from my master, who was thrilled by my victory. From then on, I won battle after battle, earning fame throughout the cockfighting world. With each victory, my arrogance grew. I looked down on every rooster I met. I was proud of who I was—the champion.

But time has a way of changing everything. As I aged, I no longer had the agility or the stamina I once had. Still, my master continued to train me for future fights. One morning, just as usual, he took me to the arena. This time, he repeatedly emphasized that I must win this fight. My opponent wasn’t as muscular as I was, and I was confident that victory was mine. But when the fight began, I underestimated him. I hesitated, thinking I could easily defeat him. But he attacked relentlessly, and my once-sharp claws and spurs no longer seemed to matter. I lost that battle in humiliating fashion. The crowd jeered, and the people who had placed their bets on me kicked me as they passed by. My master was furious. He grabbed me, threw me into his car, and drove me to a loud, smelly place.

There, I ran into an old acquaintance—another rooster from my village who had once been my rival. But now, like me, he was here, forgotten and abandoned. We looked at each other—"Bất Bại" and "Oanh Liệt"—names that no longer held any meaning. We both mourned the loss of our glorious pasts, reduced to mere shadows of the strong birds we once were. I thought I would wait here for my master to return, but soon, I saw "Bất Bại" being taken away by a stranger. As for me, I had no idea what awaited me next.

This afternoon, the sun was scorching hot. I lay beneath a banana tree, gazing at the fluffy white clouds drifting lazily across the sky. The banana leaves swayed gently in the breeze, and I felt a deep sense of melancholy. Memories of my glorious past flooded my mind, making me, a once-proud fighting rooster now abandoned, feel a sense of deep sorrow.

I was born into a lineage of famous fighting roosters. The elders often spoke of how both my grandfathers were skilled fighters, each winning hundreds of battles and only losing a few. Because of their prowess, their owners ensured the breeding of strong, healthy roosters. My father was no exception, a warrior in his own right. Naturally, I was raised to be strong, growing rapidly and quickly selected by my owner to compete in the local cockfights. My owner named me 'Sun Wukong' for my swift and powerful strikes, comparing me to the legendary monkey king known for his incredible agility and skills. I recall the fierce battles where I defeated opponents using traditional techniques, earning gold medals at several village festivals. My name, Sun Wukong, became famous throughout the province, and I was celebrated by all the poultry in the area.

But now, here I am, reduced to the life of an abandoned rooster, living day by day in a small pen with other young roosters who crow loudly and hens who gossip incessantly. They often look at me and whisper among themselves, 'Look at him, so eager to fight, and now look at him…' This all happened after I was severely injured in a battle against a renowned rooster named 'Madman' from Hanoi. He was a formidable opponent, tall and experienced, but I underestimated him, and the result was a disastrous defeat. I was so badly hurt that I still limp today. Afterward, my owner sighed and said, 'Such a waste, Sun Wukong.' From that moment on, he no longer took care of me as he used to. I became just another rooster, living alongside others, eating scraps, and lucky not to be slaughtered—perhaps because my owner still felt a bit of pity for my past victories.

But I was heartbroken. Days passed, and I knew I would never again be a champion in the arena. I mourned my fate, remembering the times my owner would brush my feathers and apply ointments to toughen my skin. I missed his gentle words of encouragement before each fight, the cheers from the crowd as I charged into battle, and the praise I received for my clever moves. These memories still echoed in my mind. Suddenly, I remembered a poem my owner once read in a moment of inspiration. It was about a tiger locked in a cage, lamenting its fate: 'Gnawing at a block of fury in the iron cage, I lie still as the days slowly pass.' My current feelings were no different. Oh, how sad...

Suddenly, a heavy rainstorm broke out. I ran from the garden back to the chicken coop, but I got drenched and shivering. I saw a rooster named Choat, hunched over in the strong wind. He was weak and frail, unable to withstand the storm, and kept collapsing to the ground. Moved by pity, I pushed him into a nearby bush to shield him from the rain and stood outside to block the wind. After a while, he shivered and finally managed to thank me, 'Th-thank you, big brother!' I replied, 'No problem. You're too weak. You should watch the weather and go home early. What if the wind blows you into the pond?' 'Yes, I know. But I'm too weak. I have to go far to find food. The other strong roosters won’t let me eat nearby.' That’s really unfair, I sighed, Choat. I thought my life was tough, but yours seems harder. Don’t worry, I’ll tell the others not to bully you anymore...

In that stormy afternoon, standing side by side for warmth, we quickly became close. Choat kept thanking me and then said thoughtfully, 'I know I have many disadvantages, but I’ll try my best to live well. Complaining won’t change anything.' I didn’t expect Choat’s words to make me think so much. I had been stuck in the past, regretting my lost glory, while time passed by uselessly. It wasn’t right. Here was a young rooster like Choat, so optimistic despite his hardships. I was still healthy, but here I was, feeling miserable and hopeless—what a waste of life. Thinking about it, I told Choat, 'You’ve got the right attitude. I’ll try to move on too, and stop lamenting.' Choat didn’t fully understand, but he nodded, agreeing in his own way, even though he was shivering from the cold. And for the first time since being abandoned, I let out a hearty laugh, drowning out the sound of the rain.

And so, my friends, I am an abandoned fighting rooster with many struggles and regrets. I have been sad for many days. But from that moment on, I understood that in life, you can’t just hold on to the glory of the past. You have to keep moving forward. Only then can you overcome adversity and find the true meaning of life.

Life is full of ups and downs, pain and happiness. As for me, my glorious and proud days are long gone and I don’t think they’ll ever return. Every time I think back to the past, I realize how impulsive I was, and I pity the drifting fate I have now. I had planned to bury these memories forever, but today I’ll share them with you as a lesson in life.

I was born at a time when the whole village was gossiping about buying a top-notch fighting rooster. My mother was a yellow-feathered hen with a flower pattern on her tail and wings, and my father came from a well-known line of fighters. I inherited my mother’s bright yellow plumage and my father’s strong, white legs. I grew up eating worms and crickets from the backyard, as my owner was very poor and didn’t care much for my appearance. Many times I admired my reflection in the water, praising myself for how beautiful I was. My bright red comb hung like a victory flag, and my big wings made the young chicks flee in fear. Every time I crowed, all the roosters in the neighborhood marveled at my melodious voice.

I took great pride in this and strutted around, full of confidence. One day, a young man came to my owner’s house, looking to buy a rooster. My owner led him to the backyard, and as soon as he saw me, he exclaimed, 'Ah, here’s a true warrior!' Without hesitation, he paid a good sum to take me home. I moved into a big new house, though I never bothered to explore the far corners of the yard. My new owner was generous, providing me with plenty of delicious food, so I no longer had to dig for worms.

My new owner showed me off to everyone in the neighborhood and entered me into my first fight. My opponent was a large, plump rooster with massive legs and a long neck. His aggressive demeanor made me furious, and I was determined to defeat him. The fight began with him charging from a distance and delivering a strong blow to my stomach. Swift as lightning, I dodged to the side, causing him to lose his balance and crash forward. His face turned bright red as he tried to retaliate, but I predicted his move and counterattacked. I struck him hard on his ribs.

I kept landing blows, causing him to stumble backward. The crowd cheered, and my owner shouted in triumph. Proudly, I crowed loudly, relishing my victory. In the days that followed, I basked in glory, winning one fight after another in the village and even in nearby towns. Everyone admired me. But my glorious days came to an abrupt end. While the young people of our village were still fascinated by traditional games, a new wave of technology arrived. At the edge of the village, Mr. Phu had purchased a dozen computers. I heard from Muc the dog, who had served in Mr. Phu’s household for years, that these computers were magical, showing the entire world with just a few clicks.

None of the kids in my neighborhood cared for games like marbles or traditional board games anymore. They gathered around the computers to play games, watch movies, and listen to music. My owner, too, no longer paid attention to me. That was when my fate turned for the worse. One day, when I saw my owner come home, I rushed to greet him, hoping for some attention. But he kicked me aside with his foot and shouted, 'Get away from me! I’m upset because I lost the game!' I trudged back to the garden and lamented with the other chickens. They weren’t any better off, so we decided to escape to a neighboring village, hoping they would value us more and we’d live in comfort. That night, I, along with the roosters from Toan’s and Quý’s homes, ran away.

We journeyed for hours and finally arrived at the next village. But the village dogs didn’t welcome us. They attacked, chasing me with their sharp teeth. I barely escaped their claws. When I caught my breath, I realized I was lost in a remote forest, with only the sound of birds and insects filling the air. My two companions had disappeared. I wandered, surviving day by day, searching for food and spending nights in a hollow tree. Luckily, I made friends with a few wild hens who kept me company, or else I might have perished in that forest.

My life has been full of highs and lows. Now, I no longer dream of returning to my former glory. I am afraid of human betrayal. If I could be reborn as a human in another life, I would live on my own strength and never wait for anyone to lift me up again.

Perhaps not everyone can fully understand the pain of being abandoned. Watching the little chick trembling by the roadside, cared for by its owner, sends a shiver down my spine, taking me back to a moment in the past that I will never forget: the moment I was left behind alone in the midst of a bloody cockfight.

Although time has passed, I can never forget the agonizing feeling of abandonment. After a fierce battle with the famous cock, Thunderstorm, I—who thought I would become a legendary warrior in the cockfighting world—ended up lying motionless in a pool of blood, unable to move. I remembered the sharp spurs of my opponent as they tore into my wing. I had entered the fight with confidence, with my owner's trusting gaze, delivering powerful blows. My blood was boiling, and I was certain I could defeat Thunderstorm. But in the blink of an eye, he knocked me aside, and his long spurs twisted into my wing. I struggled in agony, trying to look at my beloved owner, enraged by the desire for the toy he wished for. Thunderstorm returned home triumphantly, while I and my owner were left alone on the empty field. He tried to embrace me, but the touch of his hand sent sharp pain through me. My pride as a young rooster would not allow me to accept defeat. I screamed, struggling to break free, my sharp beak striking the air. My eyes were filled with fury, and when he reached for me again, I pecked his hand, causing it to bruise. I didn’t care, consumed by anger and resentment. His innocent eyes filled with tears as he yelled:

- I won't play with you anymore. You're bad!

He ran off, leaving me alone in the fading golden light of the evening. I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t scared. Who needed him anyway? All my anger was directed at him. I looked at my wound and cursed Thunderstorm, blaming my owner for forcing me to fight. That stupid toy wasn’t even worth it! But the pride and false confidence I had soon faded, blown out like a flickering candle by the cold winter wind. I started to shiver, feeling the pain in my wing and legs as the cold seeped in. I longed for the warmth of the other chickens with their thick feathers, envy building inside me. I tried to gather what little sunlight remained, but it was growing colder and soon, darkness closed in around me. I called out in fear, but no one answered. I called for my owner, for my little master, anyone to come and rescue me.

But as time passed, the shadows deepened, the wind howled, and the grass and branches seemed to whisper threats. I closed my eyes, remembering better days. I longed for the warmth of the straw bedding, the delicious worms and crickets waiting for me. I even remembered the family of my owner who cared for us, the fighting cocks, with love. I yearned for the touch that would smooth my feathers, for the food that would fill my empty stomach. But as I reached for those memories, pain shot through me, pulling me back to reality. I realized I couldn’t go on like this, so I gathered all my remaining strength, struggling to rise. Once, twice, three times—each time I failed. On the fifth try, I almost managed to stand, but I collapsed, my body crashing to the cold ground. I lay still, accepting my fate. I watched as headlights passed, blinding me, and I thought someone might come for me.

Finally, even the distant shadows faded, taking my last hope with them. I accepted my fate, lost in memories of better times, sometimes shuddering at the distant sounds of rats or the ominous cawing of crows. I slowly drifted into unconsciousness, unable to fight back. Then, I dreamed. I dreamed of a familiar warm hand holding me, desperately trying to find my last breath. I felt my aching wings and legs soothed by warm water, and I returned to the comforting straw bedding. There, my little owner was gently stroking my head, soothing my pain. Was this a dream? Slowly, everything faded into silence.

I knew it was just a dream. When I opened my eyes, the wind would still howl, and rats or crows might feast on me. Unable to bear the curiosity, I opened my eyes. To my surprise, I saw the familiar home, and my owner's eyes, full of love and regret. His sparkling eyes reminded me of the past, when I was just an egg and heard his voice. He was the first to greet me when I hatched, joyously shouting. We had been inseparable, sneaking off with the children in the village to fight. I stood still, moved. My owner approached, stroking my head, sighing in relief:

- I'm glad I made it in time, or else...

My little owner bowed his head, apologizing, rubbing my feathers gently:

- I’m sorry for being so playful and upset. Don’t be sad. I’ve brought you plenty of food to help heal your wounds.

I wanted to laugh, but how could a rooster laugh? I felt overjoyed, seeing my little owner, thankful that I hadn’t been abandoned in the wild or eaten by predators. I was lucky to return to the warmth of my old home. Our bond had only grown stronger.

Now, I am a strong fighting rooster, my legs and spurs healed, able to travel far and make my owner proud. But the lesson I learned from that moment of arrogance and rage will stay with me forever: the fear and loneliness of being abandoned without anyone by my side.

My name is Oanh Liet. It was you who gave me this name the day I defeated my opponent and ascended to be the dominant force in the cockfighting arena. Ah, that glorious day—it is forever etched in my memory. But now, all that remains of it is just a distant past.

I was born into a large family, with more than ten siblings. My mother is kind-hearted and hardworking. She would often travel far and wide to bring back delicious and nutritious food for us. Thanks to her, all of us grew strong and healthy, each one of us showing signs of greatness from an early age. We were destined to become formidable warriors.

However, it was my father who left the deepest impression on us. In his youth, he was powerful and majestic. I heard stories of how he had been the champion in many cockfighting rings, collecting trophies wherever he went. As he neared retirement, we still had the honor of watching him fight a few more times, and he won them all. He became the embodiment of pride and inspiration for our entire family.

Each of us followed in his footsteps, learning the ways of combat from him. It became a tradition in our family that whenever one of us was about to join a new master, our father would pass down the special techniques for both battle and self-defense. On the day I joined my new master, my father passed those same teachings on to me.

My new master was a man deeply passionate about cockfighting. He traveled far and wide to select the finest roosters, and for reasons unknown to me, he chose our family. I had thought he would be much older, but when we met, I discovered he was quite young. From that day on, I began to call him 'Master' in a more personal way.

On my first day at my new home, my master took great care of me. He gave me a spacious and comfortable house, and I thought it truly suited my stature and dignity. Exactly one month later, I entered the official cockfighting ring for the first time. That day, I faced a fierce young rooster—bigger and stronger than me, but with clumsy attacks. In less than three rounds, I defeated him.

That day, my master was ecstatic and showed me off proudly to his friends. He said he believed I would become the most magnificent fighter. Hearing those flattering words, I felt incredibly proud.

From that moment, every week I fought in rings across the land. My master truly knew many places. During our travels together, I learned various new techniques. With each battle, my experience grew stronger. Truthfully, there were times I defeated my opponents quickly, but other times, I barely escaped with my life. Yet, thanks to my family’s secret techniques, I always triumphed in the end.

How many battles have I fought? I’ve lost count. But there are two that I can never forget. The first was the championship match against a renowned rooster that had won the title the previous year. He was known as 'Gray Hulk,' and indeed, when he was in full strength, his attacks were ferocious. Every time he struck, it seemed his opponent would be left stunned. But when he was weak, his defense was unyielding. I heard that many of my former companions had been left broken by him.

That day, the sun was scorching. We fought for four rounds without a clear winner. Both of us were exhausted, but our spirits remained firm. In the fifth round, I took a sharp blow to the head from Gray Hulk, and blood began to spill. Remembering the honor of my father, I decided to use a dangerous move—one that my father had taught me before I joined my new master. He had warned me only to use it in life-or-death situations. And indeed, it was deadly. A swift strike with my talons, and I blinded my opponent. That battle ended with my victory, but I felt no joy.

After that fight, I began to weaken. Two months later, my master pushed me into another challenge, but this time I was quickly defeated by a much younger rooster. The fight ended swiftly, and my master was deeply disappointed. After that, he hardly paid attention to me. I thought perhaps he had decided I was no longer useful and would replace me with a younger fighter. But no, my master had lost interest in cockfighting altogether. He had found new hobbies. He would leave early in the morning and return late at night. Occasionally, he would drop some food for me, but he no longer showed any interest.

My life became dull and monotonous. I no longer fought, and I no longer lived with the purpose my father had instilled in me. I now lie here, waiting. I dream of my glorious past, but I also await the arrival of a grim future. Oh, the sad fate of a once-great warrior. I hold no resentment toward my master; after all, my life was meant for battle, and when I no longer had the strength to fight, my existence lost its purpose. I lament the present, but the pride of my past achievements and the legacy of my father still fill me with pride.