“The ham is what?”
“Strawberry flavoured, good sir - it’s the newest craze in this little old town of ours. We don’t usually get visitors around here much, but I assure you, there are no added preservatives or artificial flavourings in this wondrous gem of a delicacy”
I blinked. “No, um, I mean, what do you mean by an ‘all-natural strawberry-flavoured ham’? That shit doesn’t even exist!” It was true. No animal could be fruit flavoured in any way, though one could come to the same conclusion if they had the slightest bit of common sense.
The man narrowed his eyes. “As I said before, good sir, it’s the newest craze in town. And I must say, I’m not a huge fan of this accusatory tone you have in your voice. You should know that my family takes much pride in their authenticity.” His smile remained plastered on his face. “And if you’re not buying anything at all, I suggest you kindly take your leave.”
I ended up leaving the shop with a small pack of questionable ham, alongside millions of unanswered questions.
I checked into the motel at the far edge of the town, that one that’s adjacent to the town’s local forest. The emerald trees were incredibly beautiful and breathtaking, which made it the main reason why I decided to pick that particular motel. I also found it especially awesome to learn that it had an excellent view of the local flora.
After pondering for a moment where to dump my belongings, I decided to leave my bag and jacket beside the nearest single bed. My mind immediately turned to the topic of the curious ham - How the heck does a person even naturally create strawberry ham? Does it even actually taste like strawberry?
“You know what? Fuck it.” I took the ham out and sliced it into thin pieces before dangling one such piece into my mouth.
Oh god, I could feel the flavour melting on my tongue as though it were ice cream on a 32°C hot summer’s day. It was the taste of a 5-star meal after not eating for what felt like forever, and it without a doubt, had that sweet sweet strawberry taste I was obviously expecting. Needless to say, the ham ended up in my stomach at record-breaking speed, and immediately after that, I cursed myself for not having the patience to save some for later.
I decidedly grabbed my keys and sped back to the shop (while most likely breaking a multitude of road laws in the process), but my shoulders fell after realising that there was a ‘closed’ sign hanging right behind the glass door. The old man was nowhere in sight either, which was really unfortunate, as I wanted the opportunity to ask him more about what was admittedly a really delectable dish. Dejected, I returned back to the motel without any more ham.
I awoke to a sweet aroma dancing through the air.
My eyes shot open. I sat up in my bed and looked around, attempting to determine the direction of the smell. I don’t even know how I could even smell something like that from inside a motel room, but it didn’t feel as though I was hallucinating.
Besides, I was starving and wanted to crave some more of that strawberry ham.
I was pretty sure that I became a crazed, strawberry ham-loving son-of-a-bitch, but that didn’t deter me from following the smell out to the woods. As I stepped outside, the sky was a giant blanket of darkness, and as I headed deeper into the woods, I could hear nightly creatures speak from all around me. But surprisingly, my flight or fight instinct did not overtake my body, and I felt myself slipping into a trance-like state.
I was walking for what felt like hours but came to a stop when I came across what looked to be an old warehouse. Despite looking as though it could be hundreds of years old, it continued to stand tall and proud, like it was sizing me up. It was intimidating, but the closer I came to it, the stronger the smell became, and that fact caused me to overlook the alarms blaring at the back of my head. The front door was locked, but from the back, I was able to slip through a rusty, old, medium-sized window that should have been replaced long ago. I was trespassing, but did I care? Not at all.
I was surprised to see that the inside of the building looked unnaturally clean and sterile. It looked completely different to how the warehouse looked from the outside, and reminded me of the halls that led me to the dentists’ offices back at home. By now, the sweet, strawberry smell was overpowering, and I began searching through the many rooms that characterised the halls. That was when I saw it.
The pig’s skin was stretched, no, peeled, back in all kinds of inhumane directions using freakishly long mechanical tweezers, leaving an extremely bloody body underneath, and so many bloody tubes were attached to the pig.
Then I saw the machines, and watched as a sickly sweet reddish-pink liquid was pumped through the tubes, filling the pig up like a balloon and causing it to look as though it would burst. A pin could pop it and fill the place up with insides.
Then a metallic scraping noise filled my ears. It softened my teeth, and OH GOD, THE PIG WAS SQUEALING SO FUCKING MUCH. IT WAS LIKE IT WAS SCREAMING, SCREAMING AN INCREDIBLY AGONISING, GUT-WRENCHING SQUEAL, ONE THAT ONE COULD DESCRIBE AS COMING STRAIGHT FROM THE PITS OF HELL.
Then a metal needle was stabbed into the pig, injecting some more of that awful strawberry juice to the point that the entire pig was ridiculously swollen, causing it to squeal some more.
Everything from my stomach came out of my mouth, and bile continued to flow, flow, flow out of my mouth and onto the sterile floor in front of me. I continued to lurch even after everything left, and disgust washed over me as I realised what I had witnessed. More than that, I could feel hatred pumping through my veins. WHY? WHY? WHY? I continued to seeth before realising that a hand was patting me on the back.
“It’s a bit of a process to get the right taste, but as you can see, it’s all naturally made.”