The Return of the Animal Farm Chapter 2 Part 1

 The Return of the Animal Farm

Chapter 2 Part 1

Inspired by a family that lives in Muskogee, Oklahoma,

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(On a quick note: my mentor said this about the work so far: "Who could pan hard? A funny tale with deep meaning. Did this author write this? Or did Orwell meet Dante and write this after a call from beyond? Did you really? So gifted for someone so young.")

The other swine and sole cow rushed forward to none other than the dairy, with Sparky pushing forward, trailed by the others. Each of Napoleon's troops save for him engaged the other defiant cows, Napoleon shouting, "Kill all who are not loyal to me!" Each upright swine slaughtered each bovine on all fours, until there was none save the few attendants. These farmhands appeared in lab coat facades, there parted hair and near-toothless scowls belying themselves. They reached for their guns, injuring several pigs but collapsing none the swine. As Sparky and Chris finished off the farmhands, all began their devouring dissent. Lois, though, our easily influenced cattle, closed her eyes, as if death was an alleviating departure. Her suffering ended, and both Napoleon and Marty could not resist the taste of her hide. 

When the swine had finished both Chris and Napoleon sought to mock society. Both envisioned them the intelligent type, and like true fascists they wore the lab coats snugly as their own. May I same something from afar from the past. Those who picture themselves as wise are simply a temporary motif. The real wisemen have honor, and depict themselves as humble with piety. One knows the institutions of politics and religion alike. Do as they say, for they are Gods, with none their rights. Thinking alone aside, those players from the native campfires knew one truth. Merits are not without caveats. One could debate Communism, correctly thought and always incorrectly implemented. One who seeks position gains power, and mutually suppresses rights. What is one regime without a power player or many? Could people truly rule themselves without becoming all Gods? The native medicine man says I think not, that no form is without faults. They portrayed everything as a fault line which would collapse and cave. Change is without rebirth, and an eventual end. Until it is all dead and resting we will never see a true end. Napoleon is no more than Hitler, like each king and political leader. We will never be free without a true noble king. Who says any religion besides those shaman of old offered such?

As they happily raised a makeshift flag depicting the plump head of a hog above the nearly lifeless dairy, Napoleon realized his first victory. They grabbed flammable fuel from the milking machine and set all of Farmer Joe's land ablaze and asunder, with burnt treats and goods their raid's spoil. Napoleon thought about his Ma, his dear Nana pig to others. She rather enjoyed her burnt pieces of slop, yet Napoleon did not regret her death. The only one who could resist the devil is a true devil, yet Napoleon and his swine was nothing more than a small legion of demons. These swine's were not a loyal angel, which is something we have never seen. Could anyone besides the devil save us? From Napoleon and his power which he lusts? One must take solitude in the devil being a cleansing source, to bathe themselves in grime and filth. Should we even bother to cry out to a God to save us? Would he become nothing more than a tyrannical nihilist?

The swine were with each other as they ate their stolen slop and pilfered the dead farmer's family clothes. Their working guns were simple enough for swine to wield with efficiency. To give all the firepower to tyrannical pigs alone is a grave error of judgement. Should we pray for a holy shepherd or a good Samaritan rancher to free us? Perhaps we should but lest we forget our actions have danged us. There is serenity to those wise musicians and poets by the campfires. We should all join them, listen to their songs while signing along. Their old stories would fascinate us and to most seem alien. What is good is never popular, with my hope lost, I'll observe from afar. Alone be the eagle with his kin, something hardly ever seen in Oklahoma and elsewhere. Napoleon may conquer us all, save for those who escape and isolate. That is I, and that is why I am simply alive. Who else could tell this tale?