It’s unusually cold for early October. The overwhelming smell of cow shit scents the air and I saunter into a barn at the annual county fair. I see sows standing in enclosed fences unable to turn around or lie down due to a lack of space. Three 4H kids run in front of me wearing masks depicting the faces of smiling cows. The hypocrisy is lost on my fellow townsfolk. Cows bleat at me as I walk by as if to tell me, “Can you please let me out of this prison cell? I’m standing in my own defacation and I can’t fucking move!” I give a quick gesture showing my sorrow and helplessness and walk out.
Upon exiting I find myself staring face to face with a monstrous man who is absolutely inhaling the overcooked meat from his Steak on a Stick. This is a fairly common sight at your average county fair. But for some reason, I cannot take my eyes off the man as drool begins to drip down what may have once been a chin and splatters onto his undersized “I Support My Local Law Enforcement” tank top. Lifeless green eyes stare unblinking into mine and I get the unsettling sense that he is judging me.
I force myself to avert my gaze and move on.
Two county sheriffs sit under a tent laughing loudly with one another. The taller one with the bald head pretends to grab the gun from his holster and points his fingers at his shorter, chubbier companion who falls to his knees and stammers, “P-please, officer. Don’t shoot me. The dope ain’t mine.” The two slavers cackle into the oncoming fall breeze. Fucking pigs.
The chicken barn is directly in front of me. I casually stride inside and absorb my surroundings. Thousands of cages are stacked on top of one another, each a foot tall and a foot wide. The cages make a maze for people to waddle through and gawk at the blatant torture going on for the chickens within. I stop to look at one chicken in particular that is larger than the rest. Her feathers extend out from the bars holding her captive and she sighs as shit falls from the ass of the chicken above and lands directly on her beak.
“I wish I could save you all.” I hang my head and walk out of the chicken coop and into the open.
Cold, dead green eyes meet mine upon exiting. Is that the same man with the Steak on a Stick? It is! But this time it’s not overcooked steak he’s eating. He’s playing Edward Fortyhands with two twenty piece buckets of fried chicken. A half eaten wing bone falls from his mouth and lands perfectly on his stomach. Wait, that can’t be him. The other guy was wearing a tank top. This dude is sporting a colossal t-shirt with the words: “God, guns, guts and gravy.” Maybe he bought it from one of those terrible novelty vendors that thrive at events like this. His bottom lip hangs open and a bit of spittle dribbles down his grease stained flesh. It’s the same guy all right. His gaze stays on mine. Is that a hint of malice? It’s like he’s staring into my soul.
I shake from whatever fever dream this man keeps placing me under and carry on. I have a mission to complete after all. But I can’t shake the feeling that he is following me. Does he know why I’m here?
I’m almost to the pig section of the fairgrounds when I notice the two sheriffs from before beating the life out of some guy at the skeeball stand. His hands are cuffed behind his back and he’s laying on his stomach with a pool of blood forming on the moonlit grass around his head. The cops aren’t showing any signs of letting up.
“God damn fuckin’ junkie,” the tall one with the bald head says and kicks the man in his side.
“It was.. just.. a joint!” the man on the ground pleads through exasperated breaths.
“That shit’s illegal, you god damn fucking scumbag!” the short, chubby cops yells and spits on the man. “All these nice people are here trying to relax and eat some god damn Steak on a Stick, and here you are polluting the air with your god damn fuckin’ drugs!”
For a moment I consider informing these two cops about the real causes of air pollution and that our over consumption of meat (on a stick or elsewhere) is one of the leading causes. I think of the possible consequences of such a bold action and carry forward. My real mission for tonight lies ahead and the time on my phone says it’s already 9:55. Five minutes until the fair is closed. I need to find a place to hide.
The thirty foot tall Fun Slide is in my sights. I bolt in its direction and dive under the lowest part of the slide. I lie in the cold grass and wait. Once everyone is gone I’ll make my move.
After waiting in silence for an hour, I peel myself off the ground and wipe the dew from my flannel shirt. I sneak off toward the pig barn.
The sound of snoring pigs surrounds me as I enter their shit hole of a living space. A few of them snort at me as I pass them by. One particularly little fellow oinks in my direction. I turn to see him trying to escape being flattened by his mother. She, however, has no where to move out of his way. The cage containing them both is far too small for one pig, let alone a mother and her babies. The little fellow squeals in pain. His mother’s weight continues crushing him into an early grave.
I press forward. I can’t possibly save every animal.
A familiar snort sounds in my direction. I turn to my left and see her.
“Agnes!” I shout and run to her cage. “I’m so sorry this happened.” Her little curly tail wags in the cool night breeze. The only part of her body with enough room to wiggle. “I swear, once I find out who kidnapped you, I’ll—”
A loud snort interrupts our reunion. I glance around the dimly lit barn and see a figure standing in the distance.
It’s a man. A large man. Deep, uncomfortable wheezes exhale from his gaping mouth.
“Stay back,” I say. “I’ve got a knife and I’m not afraid to use it.”
He continues maundering at me. One gargantuan foot hits the ground and his body sways in the same direction. The other foot finds the floor and his weight sends him the opposite way. It’s the most comical over exaggeration of a waddle imaginable. His massive menacing frame moves into the moonlight shining through a window in the barn.
I squint to make sure it’s real. It can’t be… it is! It’s that same fucking man from earlier! Only this time he’s got on yet another shirt. A massive pink hoodie covered in mustard stains hugs his torso just a bit too tightly. It reads: “I Love Pigs!” Except the word, ‘love,’ is a bacon emoji. The man’s also not eating two buckets of fried chicken this time. He’s deep throating a footlong corndog wrapped in bacon. After swallowing the entire fucking thing in one fell swoop he spits out what’s left of the stick onto the dirt.
“Fuck are you doin’ in here?” His voice booms in the night as a light drizzle starts to fall outside the barn. “This is private property! I’m callin’ the authorities.”
“Please,” I plead. “Someone stole my pet, Agnes. I’m just here to free my friend.”
“Pigs ain’t pets,” the man laughs. “Pigs is for eatin’.”
“That’s bull shit! Humans decided pigs were for eating. Humans can decide not to eat them too! You wouldn’t eat a dog or a cat, would you?”
“She sure does look tasty.” Slobber drools down the man’s face and he begins to waddle in Agnes and my direction. “Besides, humans need meat. How else we supposed to get our protein?”
“There’s protein in so many things! Are you kidding me? Oats. Nuts. Fucking beans!” I attempt to open the gate holding Agnes in her cage but the door won’t budge. It’s locked. “Have you never eaten a god damn bean?”
“Maybe I’ll eat you after I’m done with her.” The mammoth of a man maunders closer. “You ain’t much bigger than a bean.”
“Please! Just fucking leave us alone!” I cry and hold out my hands in a vain attempt to stop the whale from beaching himself onto Agnes and me.
“What in the god damn fuck is all this god damn fuckin’ noise goin’ on in here?” a familiar voice echoes into the barn.
“More god damn fuckin’ junkies is my guess.” The two sheriffs strut into the barn. Two Glock nines glisten in the waxing moonlight.
“Officers,” the meat eating menace begins, as he turns to face them. “This girl is an intruder! She’s trying to free all the—”
Before he can finish his sentence, multiple gun shots ring throughout the barn. My artery clogged assailant falls back onto Agnes’ wooden cage breaking the structure. Agnes squeals under his weight and squeezes herself free. The two of us sneak to the back entrance and slip outside.
We creep along the outside of the barn. I put my head to the wall and peer into a window.
“Look at that,” the tall sheriff laughs and kicks the lifeless body in front of him. “His shirt says, ‘I Love Bacon.’”
“Fuck, bacon sounds good right now,” the short chubby one says and puts his hands on his stomach. “Let’s go the Waffle House and get some.”
“What do we do about this guy?”
“Let’s just wait till’ the morning. Then when the town breaks out in mass hysteria over a dead body..”
“We’ll just blame it on another god damn junkie?”
“Now that sounds like a plan!”
“You’re god damn right it is. Now let’s get outta here. I hate god damn fuckin’ pigs.”