Some pigs hang from ropes by their back
legs, squeals erupting from their pink
mouths, their bodies bloated. They don't
look like the ones in my coloring books.
They all look sick and desperate. Their
big eyes look scared. “Auntie, why are
they all like that? Don't they like to play?
Where is their farmer?” I ask, my voice
get big. I think they want to go back
home to their farm. Auntie raises an eyebrow at my silence and turns to an old
lady in a hair net. They talk with big
words and I miss my mommy. The moos
get too loud, too machines whir, and I'm
unsettled. I bolt back to the door.
I pass beast after beast, bumping
IMAGE BY INEQUATION
getting lost in the confused room. One
cow looks me and moos, her thick head
shaking and her eyes watery. I don't
want to be her friend; I'm scared she'll
make me sick.
into cages, tearing holes in my tutu. Finally I notice a heavy door and throw my
weight into it. When I burst in I see Santa. He is in a crisp white suit dotted with
splotchy red spots. His long white beard
is braided, and in his wrinkly hand is a a
long toy knife. A pig hangs in front of
Santa, his eyes empty and a cut slashed
across his fat neck. Santa steps toward
me, placing the knife on a shiny table.
When he reaches out, my cheek hits the
slick floor and I lose my breathe.
“What?” he asks, crouching on his knee.
“Don't you like bacon?”
Auntie snickers, shaking her powdered head at me. “Honey, these cows
are special remember? They know there
is no time to play! They have to stay
here and focus on getting big. You can
go pet one if you'd like,” she chuckles. A
man overhears her and laughs. I yank
my hand from Aunties, suddenly frightened. I don't think the animals want to
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