The Return of the Animal Farm Chapter 2 Part 3

 The Return of the Animal Farm

Inspired by a family that lives Muskogee, in Oklahoma,

Chapter 2 Part 3

The swine rose like a denizen of darkness, the sky setting the same setting. A long meal, tossed out quickly after, like dragon's fire from their large rump, the roadside now a filthy dump. Lethargically they climbed aboard, their makeshift convoy of catastrophe, with massive pig flesh to see. The husks of swine are an undefined pink juggernaut, only their internals could be lesser. When you have a bundle of sticks for brains, Napoleon is the swine you become. With a leader as defined as a corpse, with the merit of Napoleon's calibre, your future is the one you'll fear. Is change made by bravery? Never, more like stupidity. Running and hiding is the key to longevity, not the ideals of Napoleon Jr, with the actions matching. It'll be your future that will not be lasting.

He laughed as his truck rumbled, his belly doing the same, a pang like thunder. His weakness kicked in, yet his heartless ambition endured. They all snacked with their course dwindling, and still couldn't reach Farmer John's Ranch fully. There is no way that a swine can push his course, when their energy be so sparse. Like their hairless flesh, swine are built upon cursed ruins. What can be built is always with greed, with theft and piracy, across the suburban seas. An upright pig will not last in society, when rules keep their type poor. Who is kept poor? Those who are already poor. Who gains riches? The already wealthy. What is this game in which no one wins? It's called life where forward thinking is a sin. Our progressive minds lead us backwards, our conservative hearts giving us nothing. Liberalism kills everything good, and communism allows the thieves to share. A republic is a monarchy, leading to tyranny. A religious sect is diabolic, for modesty will always takeaway. Is there any form that can honestly lead the way? For this world has forever been in a state of decay. Which world could this be with the name of Oklahoma? The former pagan homeland to the natives, as we seek to repair our ways with coins. Respect and honor is what they deserve, a thing that most farmers will never receive nor possess. Should it be rightfully so? Really, they killed the natives, took the land they had, with their wives they made themselves dads. The time of wisemen alongside chiefs with braves lasted only til the white and pink devils landed. They weren't goats, dragons, the like, faces like farmers and swine hid them. Infiltrated our ranks, the land we built was for them to take. A poisoned facade was their chalice full of wine, a cracker to inflate everyone, a diseased wafer. Is that chapel full of liars? 'Fraid so, for they became our mind's voyeur, with independent thinking being cursed. Will we ever free ourselves from the chains of demonic religion? Not if we go to the choir of the devil, inside all temples which seems to be everywhere in Oklahoma and elsewhere. It shouldn't surprise that is where farmer and swine alike hides and dies.

Sparky let out a hideous belch from his bloated jaw, one accented with a boisterous stench. Louise thumped her invisible bible she had never read, declaring, "All farmers are demons! Servants to their devil!" How mistaken could be the swine, unless it is a mirror per pond reflecting. Clean water, who am I kidding? Beings like swine like Louise or none other use anything more than mud to bathe. The chance they have is that of a breaking a mirror. No chance all, because vanity never judges thyself. Marty sung a hymn incorrectly, mixing verses and chorus, while first pig Chris thought the crops a sea, as Angelique plotted inefficiently. "They are useful idiots." Napoleon pondered, wondering how many more he could trick. With a mind like his everyone he felt he could deceive, but why would someone large and furtive mislead anyone? Not even the lowest farmer could fall for him, only other, lesser, swine like his own. They came from Hades in the womb of their Ma pig, one affectionately known as Nana in memory. What a lie, more like a cruel devil mistress, maybe Jezebel, one now burning in Louise's fictional infernal jail.