Stop! Please!" I heard a deafening shriek just as I was about to swing at the pig. Startled, I scanned the area. It was getting dark, and I was the only one left. I glared down at the pig, who was glancing back at me with its wide, beady eyes.
"Please, please don't kill me!" it squealed, forcing me to step back quickly. The pig just talked.
"E-excuse me?" I frowned. The pig was cowering in its filthy little corner and it's stubby legs were shaking wildly.
"Don't kill me, please! Just put the axe down!" It shrieked.
I stared down at my glimmering axe, and took a look at myself towering over the talking creature.
"I'm high, aren't I? Ain't no such thing as a talking pig!" I exclaimed, subconsciously stepping back. I dropped my axe and took a good look at the pig.
"No, you're not, please, just listen to me for once in your pathetic little life!" the pig yelled. My eyes widened as I looked at the axe again.
"Do you wanna die? No? Just shut up!" I shook my head violently. I knew I had to try and work the drugs out of my system.
"I'm sorry, okay? I just don't wanna die. Listen, I don't know what you are seeing, but this isn't real!" Somehow, I couldn't take my eyes off the pig.
"You can say that again. I can't believe I'm listening to a pig."
"So now you can hear us? It's about damn time-" it started, causing the place to spin. Dizzy, I stumbled out of the building to meet Mark, who had been smoking near the fire exit.
"What's the problem, Jay?" he groaned, smirking back at me. "What did you do?"
"Why do you think I've done something?" I shrugged, forcing a quick smile.
"You raced out here and you look like you've been possessed. What the hell have you done?" he stood up and twitched his eye. He had gotten used to asking that question.
"Nothing, I… I think I've gotten too high, is all." I sat down on the bars and let my legs dangle from the side, overlooking the rest of the farm.
"Were you seeing zombies again?" he scoffed, breaking his eye contact.
"Worse. I just had a conversation with a damn pig." I spat, rolling up a cigarette.
"Jay, you gotta stop taking drugs at work. If they find out, they'll kill you-" he nodded, swinging his body over to face the same way as me. My hands gripped the bars so tight that they started to burn and radiate red.
"Yeah, well, I can't stop now, can I?" I shrugged. We both sighed in unison, staring helplessly at the ground, which seemed like it was miles below us.
"This one felt different, though. The words coming out of its mouth… it felt real-" I stuttered.
"Jay, it's a talking pig. It's not real. You need to get rid of the stuff. I can help you, but when you use too much, you end up like this." Neither of us bothered to make eye contact still. My clouded head wouldn't have been able to process his silent, judging eyes.
"You ain't better than me, you know! You've taken some of it, too. You ain't some better angel-" I spat. I just wanted things to shift away from me.
Mark continued to smoke loudly. He shifted his legs over to face the back door again.
"I'm not attacking you. Just go home and sleep. Don't want you befriending no more pigs." He cracked a smile, although only for a few moments.
Gingerly, I nodded and swung my body around to face the exit door. Mark was smart, but he didn't understand. He had gotten me out of some tough situations at work, but I always felt like he looked down on me just because I used drugs a few times.
____________________________________________
The high pitched voice of the damn pig echoed in my fuzzy head as I strolled past it. It looked directly at me, judging me - I was forced to let my eyes fixate on the exit. If i were forced to confront the pig again, I wouldn't know how that would end.
The neon sign above the rusty red farmhouse luminated the car park, where I stood, staring at the broken-down van that boss gave me. It smelt funny and it only barely got me from my house, which was only a few blocks away, to the slaughterhouse. But I couldn't afford any proper car, so I was stuck with the piece of junk for now.
Come to think of It, I realised that my work controlled everything in my life. They "offered" me a company car, they "offered" me a spare apartment they owned that was close enough to the slaughterhouse and far enough away from my old friends, they "advised" me not to go out aside from work. Scheduled lunch periods, long work hours, the lot.
"I should save the pig." I whispered, the sentence echoing amongst the few cars scattered around. There was something off about the pig.
But it was probably the drugs talking. My head was still fuzzy, my vision was split and it felt like the sound of every raindrop outside was amplified so much that it sounded like a gunshot.
Warily, I stumbled to my car, eyes widened and shaky hands in front of my body. I could barely feel the bumby car in front of me. The rain slammed down on my fragile head as i reluctantly thrust my keys out of my full pocket, jammed the keys angrily inside the lock and jumped inside the car.
I didn't know how to get rid of the adrenaline, the energy. At first, I just sat there in the dead of night, listening to the lively raindrops pound on the roof. But part of me wanted to get out and scream. Part of me wanted to investigate the blurry visions I kept seeing. Most of me was urging me to go and get the damned pig. Eventually, after time had dragged on, I punched my steering wheel in frustration, started the car and drove - or at least tried to.
At nights, my bed felt like a wave of relief that washed my pain away. It lifted my back up, and my dizziness was left ok run rampant. As dizzy as i usually was at that time, i didn't have to go anywhere. It was like finally letting the stress run rampant in my jigsaw head.
This night was different. I slipped my shoes off, got changed and dipped my body into the rusty bed as usual, and the ceiling spun and twisted around when i gazed at it, as usual. But the pig's squeal echoed in my head. The pig wasn't anything special. Pigs are filthy, loud and large. I had killed dozens of pigs before, but that one got to me. Maybe it was that his squeal sounded oddly human-like. Maybe it was that my high head convinced me that it was talking to me. Or maybe the pressure piled at my feet overtook me.
The "sleeping" pills never helped me get to sleep anyway, and I desperately needed to catch up after the long hours they got me working. But I was never sure of any of it - no matter how many drugs I had taken over the years, I had never gotten used to the warped feeling afterwards. It felt like going on an unhinged rollercoaster. My stomach was always turned, my head was always radiating red and my body always screamed out at night - but man, did they make me feel alive.
Eventually, I had had enough of the spinning ceiling. But everytime my eyes shut, all I could picture was the filthy blood gushing from that pig's belly. The helpless stare he gave me as I held a sharp blade above his head. The terrified shriek he gave-
Frustrated, I sat up and stumbled out of my room. I didn't need sleep, anyway.
____________________________________________
Didn't you say it was a pig you were taking care of?" Mark smirked at me as I walked in the front gates, red eyed and tired.
Dammit. It had taken me all night to get that goddamn pig out of my head. It was more frustrating to try and figure out why the hell that pig was so important to me anyway. It's a pig. A useless, scrounging, dirty pig.
"Yeah, why?" I shrugged, half-heartedly, barely noticing that Mark was excitedly rushing to keep up next to me.
"Well I don't know what drugs you were on last night…" he chuckled. I clenched my fists.
"You would know, you bloody sold it to-" I grunted through gritted teeth.
"-But it's not a pig. It's a cow."
I stopped dead in my tracks and blinked heavily. I could have sworn that the blasted thing was a pig. My vision lingered away from me for a moment as Mark slowly shuffled away from me. And above the ringing in my ears and the blurriness covering my vision - I could still make out a small crowd of workers huddled around the pig ; It clearly wasn't a cow.
"What do you…" I stuttered. It was only then that I managed to take in Mark's appearance. I don't know what Boss got him doing, but he was smothered head to toe in dirt and mud. His bright red and white shirt triggered circus-like imagery. A straw hat covered his messy, black hair and his rosy cheeks flared in the sunlight.
"See? It's clearly a cow!" Mark excitedly gestured to what was clearly a pig. It looked exactly the same as it did the other night.
"Err… nope. Still a pig." My dry mouth formed the words slowly and carefully. I had to try harder to get the words out.
"Huh?" Mark frowned, glancing back at the pig in confusion.
"What are you on about? It's clearly a chicken, you idiots!" Someone at the end of a small crowd bellowed, to which I visibly rolled my eyes.
This stuff was quite common. See, most of us got to work at the slaughterhouse because we weren't really educated ; this was the easiest job to find in the area. None of us were very smart. Even Mark, the smartest of the lot of us, never went to school.
"Is that not a lamb?" A quiet voice trembled from the side of the crowd.
"Oh, shut up, Archie! Since when do we eat lamb that looks like that!" Edward laughed to himself, causing a louder spur of yelling and guessing.
"Trust me. That right there is a cow, man." Mark shrugged, pointing at the snuffling creature with a large, curly tail and mud smeared over its large, clueless face.
"I don't know what to tell ya." He insisted.
I gazed longingly at Mark's eyes to try and uncover any hint that he could be joking, before the silence of the crowd lunged at me.
"Well get on with it, then!" Archie yelled, folding his arms impatiently.
I tried to focus my spinning, foggy eyesight on the man.
"Get on with… what?" I mumbled, wiping off the sweat from my pale forehead.
"Are you gonna kill the bloody lamb or what?" He squinted at me. His eyes were like judging daggers taking a long swing at my awkward body.
Amongst the embarrassment, I took a guilty glance at the pig. It was sitting down, raising its muddy snout towards me, standing straight in a soldier-like manner.
Light rain started to knock on the floor and the roofs as I reached for my blade. It was long and heavy, and riddled with blood stains. I carefully raised it up, and the pig's tearful eyes followed it and tried to back away.
"Stop, Please!" The pig pleaded, making my arms flinch. I nearly dropped the knife as it yelled. My jumbled mind twisted as I started to ponder on when the hell the drugs would leave my system.
In front of the eager audience, I meekly jumped in place. I heard somewhere that exercise helps get drugs out of your system faster.
"What the hell… oh, just get on with it!" One of them sighed, their words not quite reaching my perception.
"You… you don't know what you're doing. J-just listen to me…" the pig circled around its pen.
"C'mon! Ju-"
"Will you just shut the hell up!" I argued in a piercing scream. Blood boiling, I closed my eyes and breathed heavily. It seemed like the whole world was messing with me.
"Sorry man, calm down…" the man mumbled. I heard his voice get quieter with each word. I reached my shaky, bony finger to wipe the tears from my eyes, before nervously lifting up the sword one last time.
Then the pig screamed.
It wasn't a full scream. At first, it sounded more like the squeal of a typical pig as it pranced around the pen, crying out for something. But the longer it drew on, the more human and distinct it became, to the point that it sounded like a woman screaming until her lungs gave out, calling out for her life. It was blood-curdling and deafening.
I looked back to find that neither of my work friends were bothered by this. In fact, they stood in the same spot, checking their watches in frustration. I then looked back to my sword, remaining still in the pouring rain above the pig's head. The dry dirt from my arm, that was holding the sword from falling on the thing, was washing off in the rain. That was the first time I properly looked at myself.
I looked terrible. My clothes were torn and wet, my shoes swam in the infected puddles that swarmed around me, and my trembling arms felt weakened and achy.
Perhaps, if I had forgotten to wash myself, then maybe my head wasn't in the best form. Or maybe my head was pushing me away from the thought of butchering the sentient pig.
Either way, I looked at the animal and the sword dangling over it, and felt a growing lump in my throat. As much as my head was telling me to drive the sharp edge home, it was also telling me not to. I couldn't do it.
Forcefully and reluctantly, I moved the sword away from the animal and stuck it deep in the mud, folding my arms and slowly turning to face my friends.
Mark frowned in frustration as the confused crowd dispersed away, mumbling and cursing under their breath. Then the dinner bell rang, snapping me out of it.
"The hell is wrong with you, man…" Mark shook his head and raced to the dinner hall, leaving me to close my eyes and slump my shoulders, alone, with the rain drumming on my head.
They all gave me looks when I sat down next to Mark at the canteen. I meekly shuffled across the benches, head down, staring at the food.
"First time ever… a pacifist slaughterer!" He chuckled to himself. "That won't go down well, trust me."
I sighed and blinked heavily, "You don't understand. It's that thing, it's not…" my voice faded away as I glared down. I decided that telling Mark that I still heard it wasn't the most sane thing to say in a conversation.
"Oh, forget it." Loud chatter buzzed through the hall, stinging my ears as I tried not to think about eating the slosh they were feeding us. It looked like horse puke. It was like black porridge, with chunks of white meat hanging over it. We were forced to eat this instead of bringing our own lunch ; I never understood why.
"You'd think that they'd serve us meat for lunch, considering we've got stacks of it." I shrugged, trying to bring myself to look away from the tray.
"You're not here for what I think you're here for, right?" He rolled his eyes and dropped his knife and fork loudly. I could feel that he was looking at me.
"What?" I scoffed, finally looking up to meet his gaze. His look stung like daggers.
"You know what. You… want more." His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned in towards me.
My fingers tapped anxiously on the table, and my arms started shaking wildly. Noise faded in and out of focus. Unsure of what to tell him, I cleared my throat.
"...Just a little bit. To get me through the day. I can't stand this right now!" My nails gripped the table and, slowly, my hands formed into fists.
He looked down on me, judging me. Silently, he rolled his eyes and got up. Frantically, I let my eyes scan him.
Is he leaving without giving It to me? Does he not have it on him? Where's he going?
Reluctantly, he rummaged through his pockets and dumped a bag in front of my tray, storming away from me. I let myself breathe again as I delicately scooped up the bag and gently placed it in my pockets.
And my fingers gently tapped the bag as I tried to smoke it in secret in the bathroom. The quiet hum of the ceiling was about the only noise I could tolerate when I was high. Everything else was always amplified, made to drum into my skull.
Nobody ever came into the toilets, anyway. It had a very strong odor, and everything in it was broken. It was as if the boss kept it that way to restrain bathroom breaks.
I chuckled to myself, holding the bag over my nose as the door violently swung open. Agitated, I turned around to spot Boss glaring at me, his hand leaning on the infected bathroom sink. He had a disgusted look on his face and his hands started trembling.
"You're a… Junkie?" He yelled, his imperative voice echoing through my jumbled head.
"I-i was just-"
"How often do you take drugs? What type is it, anyway? Are you high? Boy, what the hell are you seeing?" He commanded. His voice became merely an echo as I tried to piece my head together.
"Wh-why are you asking me this!?" I yelled, holding the bag tightly in my hand. His face was incredibly pale, and he was still shaking nervously.
"I don't want druggies working here. You get rid of this!" He yanked the bag out of my hand and stomped it on the ground. He then stomped on it repeatedly, still glaring me down.
"... and any other drugs you probably have stashed away! I want it gone! Now!" His voice pierced my thoughts as he lightly pushed me and stormed out of the bathroom. And I was left stuttering and rummaging through my pockets before walking out of the bathroom, head firmly down.
Everyone stared at me as I walked out. I could feel it. I didn't know whether it was because Boss stormed out before me, or if it was because they heard I was a pig pacifist.
Frantically, I slung my bag over my shoulders and hurried out through the farm area, where they kept all the pigs. The shimmering neon lights looked down on me as I rushed for the exit. I couldn't stand to be around them anymore.
It had never happened to me before, but over the last few days, the thought of a worker mercilessly swinging their axe down on a pig - and that pig in particular - made me sick. And everyone was turning their backs away from me because I couldn't do it.
My breathing became more fragmented as I stepped out of the slaughterhouse. My legs were trembling and my arms started to burn. I tried to ignore it as I scanned for my broken car, when a metallic smell reaching from the building drew me away. It lingered in the air ; it was sort of a sickly odor that made me want to heave, but it was familiar. It was a smell that I had had to deal with for days on end at this job.
It was blood.
With widened eyes, I stepped back and reluctantly began to turn around. It must've been another pig to bite the dust, even though the smell of its blood was never that strong. The thought of them killing the talking pig sent my mind racing as I turned my head to face the building.
It wasn't the pigs ; it was the people. Dozens of old men and women were stuck, frozen in the pig pens, their bloodshot, unwavering eyes glaring at me. They were everywhere, all around the pig pens. I saw screaming children cowering before one of the workers, tears racing down their face, before being beheaded by the worker.
My body shook. I flinched as I realized that none of them were breathing. They were all dead. Most had their head detached, others had patterns of marks down their body.
My voice became dry as I instinctively rushed up towards the killer, frantically prying him away from the dead children before angrily punching him in the face, knocking him down.
The drum of my heart was the only thing I could hear as I scanned the pens. The bodies were gone, and the pigs' lifeless bodies lied there in replacement.
"What the hell, dude?!" The man glared at me as he stood back up, human blood gushing out of his nose.
"You just… those… i mean, th-they were… children!" I stuttered, pointing to the dead pigs behind him.
The man sighed and scowled at me. "You taking drugs again? They're cows, man-"
"-Pigs! They're pigs!" I ran my shaky hand over my bloodshot eyes. "How do you know… about that anyway?" I asked, out of breath. I never told him about the drugs.
"Mark. You really saw them as children? How high are you!" He laughed, although his look still pierced through my eyes.
I tried to tune him out as I noticed that one worker was about to finish off the talking pig.
Breathing heavily, I rushed towards both of them.
"What the hell are you doing? He's mine." I ordered with a shaky voice, glaring him down.
"You're not well, just let me do it." He shrugged and looked away from me. The pig gazed at me with desperate eyes.
Frantically, I pulled the axe away from him.
"Get your own pig to kill!" I yelled at him.
"It's a chicken…" he smirked at me.
"Pig! Were you not in school when you were six!?" I let the words pour out before storming off with his axe. As I left, I couldn't help but notice that the pigs had the same helpless look in their eyes as the humans did.
And that was it. I stared at the drugs in my pocket and the only thing that rushed to my head was the sight of blood. Arms shaking violently, I rushed towards the office, heart pounding like a drum. I carelessly dropped my bag off of my shoulders and rummaged through it on the way.
When I got there, my eyes locked in on the nearby bin. I tried to salvage anything in my bag that wasn't drugs, but in the end, none of my stuff mattered. Everything I owned belonged to Boss anyway.
Without flinching or hesitating, I angrily dumped my entire bag into the small bin, sighing with relief at the thought of blood-stained capsules of pills slowly sinking into the trash pile.
I stepped back and wiped my welling eyes when I noticed that Boss was glaring at me. That was when I realised that he had watched me storm in there and dump my bag in the bin like a lunatic.
"H-hi, Boss…" I waved nervously as I stepped away from the bin, which had my black bag slouching upside down inside of it.
"I… I took your advice. Erm…" I stuttered. I noticed that he was still glaring at me from the other end of the corridor ; His glare stung like daggers.
Awkwardly, I decided to shuffle back outside, pinning my back against the outside wall and gazing up at the cloudy sky with relief. It took a massacre to get me off the stuff, but it got me off the stuff.
____________________________________________
I still heard it. For two days, I tried to ignore the agonizing screams coming from the pigs' mouths and forget the sight of oozing thick human blood, but it was still there. I still saw dead people, occasionally. The metallic smell of blood lingered in the air long afterwards. I looked at the dead pigs and I pictured the beheaded children again.
I didn't know if I could handle much more of it.
"Hey, Mark…" I finally managed to draw my eyes up towards him. He was sat back, picking at his black slosh dinner carelessly.
"I'm not giving you anymore for a while. I'm worried about you. You're too-" he sighed in a monotone voice. His eyes were lowered to examine his dinner. Ut had white bits sticking out of it.
"It's not that, it's just…" I stopped myself to question what he said. I had told him that I was getting clean.
I held my tongue, because I knew that arguing would contradict my question.
"How long does it normally take for it to… you know… wear off?" I stuttered, my legs twitching under the table.
Mark shrugged. "Depends which ones you've taken. You usually take weed so… about twelve hours." He nodded, his words sending a wave of dread over me.
"Then there's something going on. I've been hearing people screaming and dying for the last three days since I quit." I explained. I tried to remain calm, but I just wanted to yell all my problems at him.
"Then obviously, you haven't quit. I wouldn't be surprised." He scoffed, digging in to his small portion of food.
I straightened up and glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked defensively.
He eventually looked up to face me. "No, no, it's just that you're such a junkie that… I couldn't see you quitting." He shrugged before turning his attention back to his food.
"It's not the drugs, man. I'm three days free. But it's the pigs. There's something off with-" I pleaded.
"You see, that right there. You'd need to be high to see them as anything but cows, man." He sighed. "Wait a minute - are you still hearing pigs talk?" He asked, a small grin on his face. "Oh, Jay, I knew you wouldn't have quit. Stop fooling yourself!" He giggled.
I watched him silently, frowning as he spoke. "The drugs have worn off. It's the pigs, it's this place-" I trembled, running my hand over my eyes ; I felt like I could break down at any moment.
"Jau, stop it!" Mark snapped. "All these drugs, they're ruining you!" He yelled, causing a few people in the canteen to turn around.
"You'd know, you did this to me!" I cried, dumping a small bag onto the table. I never used it, honestly. I just wanted the comfort.
"Stop looking at me like that!" I stood up, glaring him down. "You gave me these! You got me hooked! Stop pitying me!" I pleaded, scanning the room for anyone who was looking. "Stop pretending that you're some better angel because you don't use and I do!" I gazed down at him ; he sat there, silent, stuttering.
I wanted to go on. It was like a flickering fire that I lit that I just wanted to grow. But everyone was watching.
With sweaty palms and shaky hands, I shoved the chair away from me and stormed off, leaving the room in a deathly silent state. Nobody trusted me enough to take me seriously.
And as I stared at my reflection in the bathroom, weighing my drugs in my shaking hand, my eyes began to tear up. My whole body had been trembling non-stop for days. I looked sickly pale and exhausted, and I could barely keep control of my hands.
It was ridiculously hard. I tapped my rotting black shoes on the infected bathroom floor irritatedly. My whole skin itched and burned ; I stared at the drugs with a longing urge to end it.
Carefully and reluctantly, I raised my hand upwards, opened the bag, and dumped it on the floor. I broke down in tears as I watched the stuff spill onto the bathroom floor, and I backed up against the corner, running a hand over my teary eyes. I knew what I needed to do.
____________________________________________
"So you can actually hear me? Like, right now?" The pig asked me as I sat slumped next to its pen. I drank a can of beer as I stared off into the night's air, orange lights illuminating from the lampposts.
Exhausted, I sighed heavily, avoiding the urge to look at the pig. "Yep. I haven't had any drugs in three days and I can still-" my voice broke off as I raised my hands towards my face and wept in them, tears covering my vision. "Why can't this be done already?" I cried out. Everybody else had gone home.
"Do you hear the other pigs talk?" It asked, perking its head up. I looked around at the other pigs, lounging around their pen, ignoring us.
"N-no. No, it's just you." I stated, pouring the beer down my throat.
The pig sat down like a dog and leaned in towards me. "Then surely, if you were imagining this, then every pig would be talking to you." It whispered, digging its legs into the mud. I stopped to think about it for a moment.
"Oh, how am I supposed to know? I'm talking to myself no matter what pig is talking to me." I shuffled to lean my back against the gate. I had hoped that the alcohol would drown my thoughts.
"No, you gotta hear me out. You're not hallucinating. We're… people." It pleaded. I looked at the pig and scoffed. "Yeah, that ain't happening. What kind of human would you be?" I chuckled hysterically as I stared back at the neon lights blazing down on me.
"I used to work here." It sighed, sombrely. "You just… you might wanna check what you're eating." It warned. I nodded before noticing someone wander into the slaughterhouse. Cautiously, I stumbled to my feet and shuffled away, the pig's words lingering in my drowned head.
____________________________________________
Check what you're eating.
It was pouring down when I stumbled into work the next day. It felt like the world was drumming on my head. I grunted as I tried to ignore my burning skin. I glared up at the black clouds circling above me and quickly darted inside.
Check what you're eating.
Mark caught sight of me as I rushed out of my soaked blue coat and wandered over to me, eyes lingering on the ground.
"Hey, Jay?" He mumbled, his feet shuffling on the ground. "I'm sorry, man. I should have helped you with… you know… your problems." He nodded. I winced at the fact that he still thought I had problems, but I listened intently as I hung my red coat on the hanger.
"It's fine. I'm over it, man." I shook my head, scratching my burning arms. I noticed that he was holding a giant red box in his hands, and two large men were loitering behind him.
"Where are you going?" I whispered, my voice dry and croaky.
"Transfer. Said something about me talking to you, so they're transferring us both. They haven't told you yet?" Mark shrugged. I glanced over at Boss, who seemed to be yelling at one of the cooks in the kitchen.
I frowned before turning back to Mark. "N-no. They c-caught you talking to-" I stuttered, staring wide eyed at him.
"Don't worry about it. I'll meet you there!" He grinned and gave me the thumbs up before strolling away, followed by two heavy guards.
Check what you're eating.
After Boss turned away from the chef, he glared at me and stormed off, stomping on the red carpet of the corridor. I tried to control my fragmented breathing as I took a glance inside the blinding white kitchen.
Around twenty cooks were darting around the place. Bloody red knives were scattered everywhere and the boiling water sizzled in the distance. Behind all of them were shelves, and stacked away on the red shelves were tins and tupperware boxes full of pills. Occasionally, a chef would stop by to draw a handful from the boxes.
I twitched uncomfortably, stepping back before a chef glared me down angrily and shut the doors firmly.
Check what you're eating.
And my pale hands shook violently as I entered the dinner hall, slowly carrying my bowl of filth on a red tray. My legs were still cold and soaking after coming in from the pouring rain outside. I slammed my tray down on an isolated table, alone. I looked around and noticed how little people cared about how strange everything was. Boss, the chef, the transfer, all of it. It was like everything around me was invisible.
Defeatedly, I stared down at my black slosh, running around my red plate with white bits sticking out of it. I felt sick. I couldn't eat it anymore. They didn't even tell us what it's called or what's in it. I mean, I guess they didn't have to worry about vegan workers.
I clutched at my stomach as I picked around my food, digging out the white bits. I tried putting them all to the side of my tray before I noticed what they looked like.
They looked like crunched up pills.
Check what you're eating.
My jigsaw mind was beginning to piece it together. Why my withdrawal was so light, the visions of the dead, why Boss was so strict on the drugs. We were being drugged every day.
I felt like throwing up. I had been served the same slosh for four years. As I looked around and noticed how carelessly the stupid workers were digging into their meals, I felt a lump in my throat. Pills never made my arms and legs shake quite as much as they did then. I could feel my body start to twitch and sweat as I tugged at my shirt. I couldn't hold my tongue about it.
My nails gripped the table and tapped on it nervously before I looked around. Around 5 guards were glaring me down from the distance, hovering above every different table. They knew.
I had to.
Check what you're eating.
"Y-you have to stop eating that." I noticed that I was now hovering nearby a different table, watching a group of other workers eat.
"Well how'd you get up here, fella?" The man stared up from his meal to glance up at me. The soldiers marched over as I began to raise my voice.
"You can't eat it! It's drugs!" I yelled hysterically. Unsure of what to do, I climbed on top of my table, watching over my dead silent audience. A few workers were pointing and giggling to themselves.
"Stop eating it! They've been drugging us this whole time-" I screamed and broke down in tears as I chucked the pills into the crowd.
Suddenly, the canteen erupted with laughter. It was insane.
"This is serious! Are you listening to thi-" I roared, giving up on controlling my trembling arms.
"Look at the pig!" They chanted, pointing in my direction and chuckling. I panted as I glared into the sea of laughing red workers.
"What you on about, that's a cow!" Archie yelled into the crowd, wide eyed and grinning.
"Is that not a chicken?" One loudly yelled out. I struggled to keep track of all of them. Confused and curious, I looked behind me to check if there were any pigs. No sign.
"Alright, alright, time to get back to your pen." Boss laughed as the guards yanked me away from the table and the canteen, and slammed the door shut. The crowd roared like a circus audience.
I glared up at Boss angrily as they dragged me across the concrete floor.
"They're laughing at me! They called me a pig, I'll kill all of them!" I wrestled and struggled out of the guards' clutch, but it was hopeless.
"They see you that way. That's what the drugs were for. You've been transferred." He sighed, avoiding making eye contact at me as he strolled in front of us. "Although we could never master the side effects. What did you see? Cows? Pigs?" He asked. Even though I couldn't see his face, his voice didn't give away whether he was enjoying it or not.
I then thought back to the laughter and choked. I couldn't imagine them seeing me as a pig.
I broke down in tears as I stared along the pens, filled with decapitated human heads and crying amputees. The dead children I saw earlier that week still rotted in their cell. Red filled my vision. There were old women and men crawling around in their pen, all missing both their arms and legs.
"Wh-why?" I stuttered, groaning as they tossed me on the muddy ground of the pen. I couldn't look at them, but I couldn't look away from the humans that were barely alive, looking out regretfully around their pen, waiting for death.
"It wasn't always this many. I just, I had people that I needed to get rid of, and this was the most legal way I could… you know…" he stared around the slaughterhouse, admiring his work. The guards seized my arms and legs and locked them in an unknown machine. I struggled and shifted, but I couldn't free myself.
"Then workers found out and I had to get rid of them, and then lawyers and stuff found out, and I had to get rid of them. I gained more and more enemies, and every single one of them ended up… here." He sighed, rubbing his hands over his eyes.
"This may hurt a bit…" he shrugged, watching as the guards swung down, sending pain shooting up my shoulders and permeating through my skull.
"Now, thanks to your little stunt, I have to get rid of you quickly, but that's not a problem…" his voice trailed off as he beckoned a worker over.
"Jay's been transferred. You're taking over his shifts. Start with that one over there-" He pointed to the woman that I had been talking to as a pig. "...and end with this little guy." He motioned towards me.
As Boss wandered off with a smug look on his face, I lied there in everlasting pain as the clueless worker stumbled over to the woman. She was looking at me with a defeated and pitiful look in her eyes. She smiled at me in a soothing manner and embraced the cool rain and the emotionless worker swung his axe down with full force.
I tried my best to look away. I saw the blood oozing out of my arm sockets. It looked just like the pigs' blood. It was strangely comforting to know that my blood awareness hadn't changed. For the first time in years, I was thinking more clearly than I ever was, even as my vision went fuzzy and my body began to feel more light.
She smiled at me. The worker loomed over me with its bloody axe and sighed heavily.
I didn't know whether to embrace the pain like she did, or fight for my life. The rain soaked into the blood that was escaping from my wasteland of a body.
Everything was clear for the first time. It hurt me with every inch of my energy, but it was worth it. The worker had a blank expression on his face as he lifted the axe above my helpless head.
I raised my head towards the axe and grinned. My mind's jigsaw was solved. And that was all I ever wanted. A purpose. A reason. For something to make sense.
But he wasn't winning. Boss couldn't take my energy away.
"Stop, please!" I shrieked as loud as I could. I tearfully smiled as I remembered the first time she said that to me. She was just unlucky that she tried a junkie.
"Stop, Please!" I cried out, laughing as the worker swung down with full force, and ended the itching that infested my body for so long. The sweet release.