The Return of the Animal Farm
Inspired by a family that lives in Muskogee, Oklahoma, and their fellow swinemates,
Chapter 2 Part 7
It is safe to say the swine thinks of carnal pleasures, but does the farmer as well? Will they all fry in a bacon jammed place full of agonizing wails? We've forgotten about mages and sages, but not the campfire men of old. They hate their flesh, whilest putting each rightfully possessed soul to the mesh. The spirit flounders where the coil reigns supreme, where Italian treats and bovine sandwiches are consumed daily. Swine eat of slop and candied water, which is why the scales are tipped for us to tear. Farmers became selfish long ago, we are in a realm that we cannot call home. Those wisemen and I will stay gone, as each song fills with depression. The prices of goods will continue to rise, yet wisdom is still as it were yesterday. Swines are not to be taken lightly, woe, woe, be to our new reality.
Napoleon wanted the farmer John to be eliminated. He sent Moondust forward, each swine holding a handheld cannon to cover her. Several of the ranchhands tried to coral her, but Angelique and first boar Chris ensured their demise. The sun set completely on our hearts when Moondust kicked over a barrel and set the ranch house to the tune of an inferno. Each swine glared at the pillar of fire as if it were a celebratory light show, where Moondust clutched tightly to her opportunity. She kicked Angelique hard in the sow's enlarged sternum, the swine putting a right hoof her chest. Her heart palpitated once, and she had fallen, the young mare letting out a shrill nay, bidding her farewell, "Thanks! Good luck!" Angelique had lost it all to a mare sent born at the night, as she died, Napoleon and the rest moved in, consuming her remains.
To everyone's surprise, three of the surviving local hogs at the farm approached. They introduced themselves as Nanci, Joey, and Ilia. Napoleon laughed, thinking, with much glee, "Look! Three of the dumbest swine I've ever seen!" These hogs that joined them weren't fit to be a hunter of a farmer, for the remaining four of the original group realized they'll be great sacrificial pawns. What this new trio thought of greatness couldn't be anymore false, they were nothing more than rubbish used by the original swine king Napoleon's descendant. Louise stared specifically at Joey, knowing the boar was even dumber than her. She asked it, "Do you believe in the church of the farmer?" The elderly boar Joey bobbed his skull up and down, moving it slightly like a walking dead clown. He enjoyed mating with his soulless swine of a boar, and his old sow had long moved to a new farmer's pastures. Nanci was the ugliest sow you could ever see, with an unusually small swine skull to match. What can we say of Ilia the young urchin of a tanned sow? Her skull should be considered empty wherever she goes.
To the wisemen, the teachers that taught me when I was such an eaglet, these swine were nothing but a mere distraction. Threats from such they'd laugh at, for a wisemen keep no soul to steal and not a pence to be seized. Befuddled bondsmen like Joey and Napoleon cannot take a wiseman's heart, as neither has a thing to offer them. Why pretend that a campfire wizard has anything to spare for the heir apparent swine kings? A wiseman is so cunning they'll use their staff to send them to their doom, their kingdom will be in gloom, and no one could expect their spells that caused them searing heat. How can one defeat what cannot be believed?
It is the lack of faith of farmer and swine alike that a sage will exploit. They'd laugh, couldn't be found anywhere, their downfall, for they would not care. They'd throw their ashes to their own bonfire, crossing their hearts, singing the words "Good riddance" while playing along. A sage knows to abuse one's lack of the truth, for that is all they value, nothing found in your average farmer and swine. Fear the farmer or the swine who speaks unnaturally, for inside rests a countless wealth of power. If someone seems an entire choir of angels in one, you'd better run, should you be a villain. They'll read your mind, curse your flesh, and shortly later you'll die from a stroke of bad luck or a heart seizure unexpectedly.
Beware the storm brews high with the justice to shatter the tower of infantile babble once again, for my teacher seeks wrath against the greedy man without a soul who is the loner in their needs. Be you sow or boar, farmer, or gal, believe that my teacher will find you if you have the mind of a swine. He's invisible to you in all ways, his arts you do not comprehend, a run in with him is worse than a bout with a Nero-sized lion, who rip you from afar to shreds. You'll be in ruins if you find that star of a forgotten hero, an agent of timeless vengeance. For the wiseman is the new reaper of souls, amidst an Armageddon chock full of swine and farmers.
Comments
Post a Comment