The Revolution\'s Pig Contest

The Revolution’s Pig Contest, by counterparts199; part 02.

   The truck doorways were pulled all of the way open, and then a terminal of pipes and metal fencing were laid in front of the truck opening.  The first man was unlocked from the truck and then his head was guided into a neck brace that ran between two horizontal rails that hovered about four feet off the floor.  The rails were supported by long rods bolted into the metal ceiling beams.  It was an odd arrangement that left most of the floor open for the women to duck under the piping and walk around on, while everywhere above four feet was a maze of metal supports and railing.  The rails that held the first man’s head were a foot apart.  Small metal extensions from the neck brace were permanently set into the rail slots to each side.  In the middle was a half moon shaped place that they put the man’s neck.  Then a swiveling back half moon part was clamped in back, holding the man’s head above and between the rails so that he couldn’t do much beyond walk to wherever the rail assembly allowed.  A simple touch was all they needed to unfasten it, I later noticed by examining the back of the assembly of the man in front of me.  The way our hands were affixed, no man could get close enough to even touch the metal bondage that the women could easily remove with a mere touch of the hasp clamp.

   When they were done clamping the first man’s head into place, they took the other neck chain off and unlocked the genitals of the man behind him from the tri-cuffs.  Thus, the man was secured to the rails alone.  With his hands still cuffed behind him and his neck confined to the device between the rails, they led him forward to nearly the end of the big receiving room full of railing and pipes by a short black woman who simply guided him to the place she wanted him to go.  The lady doing the guiding was under four feet tall, an ideal height for the job, I understood.

   That done, each of us was affixed in turn.  Some were too weak to stand, so they persuaded them by pulling them up, a big black woman to each side, and a third to secure him into the neck brace where the man had no choice but to support himself or hang himself to death.  The neck device extensions must have been on ball bearings, for it only took one woman to guide we prisoners forward, even if our feet dragged, offering only resistance.

   When it was my turn, my heart did palpitations.  I was genuinely afraid of the women who sternly took charge of my body by grabbing both of my elbows.  The third one concentrated on her business and had me clamped into my own neck harness in a well practiced second.  I heard the back brace squeak forward and then clamp, knowing that I was just a head above the tracks and that my body was at their whim below them.  The neighbor’s cock and balls left my hands, having been separated at last, as did the other cuff around my neck.

   It was a maze of pipes and tracks up where I could see, but the women had complete freedom and ownership of me down below where the rest of me was.  I was being moved along by a combination of touches and my utter horror at what they’d do to me if I wasn’t utter putty in their hands.  Just ahead, one line of tracks led off to the back of a man just as remiss of freedom as I.  A pair of hands from a body I could only catch pieces of below the metal assemblies, led me and not too gently guided me further forward as if I was just another piece of arriving meat from an endless precession of cattle trucks.  I could hear them too, other trucks outside, and to the separated and walled off receiving bays to each side, the processing going on around us, both in separate worlds and telling us that we were a part of a much bigger picture than the little world above our small subset of tracking.

   They finished offloading their quota.  A handful of men were still in the truck by the time they’d come to the count of fifty and slammed the truck doors shut in their face.  The big bay door to the warehouse receiving room was shut next.  I had no idea where they were taking the few leftovers, but I did hear the truck’s breaks exhale, and then the roar of the engine, taking them away, probably to some other room like ours that was short a full fifty heads.  Then it was just us fifty heads, fifty naked and tormented bodies, and of course, three much in control women in the end.  It could have been one woman, for the freedom of action the fifty of us had at hand.

   Going down the lot of us, one woman read the tags on our right ears while a second recorded the numbers on a ledger.  I caught one small peek at the ledger, and saw that it was a whole spreadsheet dump on each of us, each column a code that implied more information about us.  Knowing that they cared to know more about us than our numbers, I felt even more naked than before.  I’d been somehow categorized, and didn’t know the categories that the second and third woman mulled over between ear-tag readings.

   The third woman made all of the final decisions, marking each of our rumps with a series of markings in both a red and black marker.  I was mostly just a head above all of this, and couldn’t see most of the markings, nor was I brave enough to shift around what little I could in order to draw attention to myself while attempting to do so.  Still, terror had the opposite effect of making me want to know all that I could in order to up my chances of belaying more torment, and so I did manage to read a few of the markings while the ladies were attentive to the task and not our curiosity.  The markings were a series of abbreviations, I realized.  Then the lady used her red marker on Jesse Harris’s thigh that read ‘FAG’.  I hadn’t known that, but he was a meticulous person with his yard, I recalled, which I knew to be something of a stereotype.  Soon they were up to me, and I stiffened as if to attention while they mulled me over.  The third black woman who made the decisions pinched my belly, and shook her head negatively before marking my thigh with only the black marker.

   They moved on.  I was so relieved that I almost pissed the floor due to nerves.  After the relief, the humiliation hit me.  I’d been marked again, this time like a side of cattle.  I recalled the blue dye found in the outer fat of some of the cuts of beef I’d bought in the grocery store.  Damn, that was the wrong thing to think; I was starving.  Anyway, the marking carried the same feeling I’d had when that man had tagged my ear, only I was further into the process.  All of that got me to thinking and I realized that I was angry and thinking about lashing back for the first time in a while.  This time was different.  Lashing back was history; all I wanted to do was hide in the masses and not draw attention.  We had to get on with whatever was going on because the transition from what I was and into what they were sending us too was too long and brutal to endure much longer.  Some of us were nearly dead from the abuse and neglect.

   Finally, they finished with our markings.  They walked up to the man they’d labeled, ‘FAG’.  One of them unclasped a bar that led to a side railing.  There were four of these railings that branched off to the right of the main line we all were attached to, all secured by a crossbar over the railing that could easily be swung free by anybody with a hand not cuffed behind them like we were.  Only the central portion of the bay was even in use, leaving lots of space to the sides for individual attention in these offshoots, particularly to the right of us where they led Jesse Harris’s body.  He was young, and in pretty good shape, I noticed.  They could have just as easily have singled him out for that, given that most of us were middle aged white guys with a spare gut.  I know that I had one that was a good twenty or thirty pounds extra, and there were others with a good hundred or more of extra fat on them, making us a fairly pathetic lot.  Jesse, however, was gay, apparently, and ironically, looked more the man than most of the rest of us as he was led to the end of the side channel by his rail riding neck.

   At the end of one of the more central side railings, they fastened another crossbar, basically pinning Jesse in place about twenty feet from the main railing where the closest of us stood.  They turned him around, his neck loose enough in the collar to allow at least that kind of movement out of him.

   “Your attention, pigs!  Face this way.  You will find this very instructive,” proclaimed the woman.  “Good.  I can see that you all have at least learned to mind your tongues.  Now, the first thing we do here at the sorting and retraining facility is to show you a video that explains our procedures and expectations.  We start, by giving you each the honorary title of piggy.  Pigs, as you know, are livestock animals.  However, for a select few of you, there is room to move up the evolutionary chain.  We are not without compassion, and this is not a genocide program that you have volunteered for …”

   Genocide?  Volunteered?  Livestock?  What was she talking about?  We’d been captured by the new ruling order; at worst we were prisoners of some kind of domestic war, I had been thinking.  I didn’t like the sound of this, and from the way some of the men were openly weeping with greater intensity the more she spoke, I didn’t believe a word of her lying compassion argument.  It got even worse as she went on:

   “… You each will be given many opportunities to impress us.  Well, most of you, anyway.  Through our brief investigation of your former residences, as you were so charitably giving them over to the state, we made some discoveries about you.  For example, Longpig Six, four, four, nine, two is a homosexual.  Since one of the ways we will be evaluating you is based upon your willingness to humble yourself and change your personal preferences at our every request, this gives ninety-two an unfair advantage.  We do each of you a favor by selecting him, lest he show you up in one of the upcoming trials.  In addition, ninety-two is an excellent physical condition, meaning that he might not have lasted very long anyway because we like our piggies culled with good meat on them.  We will soon be showing you a video, explaining how you will all compete.  As it stands, we might as well make Longpig ninety-two our first example, given that he probably wouldn’t have lasted past the first few cullings anyway with such a lean and ready for the cull body.”

   What was she talking about?  Cull?  I didn’t give my house up due to charity, and I really didn’t like that longpig, culling stuff.  What did they plan on doing to Jesse?  So he was gay?  So, he was in good shape?  When did any of that become a major crime?  I didn’t get it!

   As I was feeling the dreads come all over me, the other two women had come back into the room with a large table with a heavy wooden top.  There were cuts all over the table’s wooden surface, as if it was cutting board for making food.  A rail ran up from each side of the table, and then across.  Attached to the top rail off of several metal cords were a thin handsaw, a scalpel, a butcher’s cleave, a small knife and a larger serrated knife.  I guess the little chaines on each were so that whoever used the utensils couldn’t toss one at anybody.  They put this butcher table with its accessories to the side of Jesse, and then backed away after turning him to face it.  Clearly they intended him to cut some meat for them.  I can’t say that I was displeased, given that I was starving and the notion of food boded well enough for me, but the idea of being fed didn’t seem to marry up real well with the threatening speech the lady had just delivered.  Oh god, I thought – they’re going to cut one of his fingers off!  They wouldn’t dare!

   I didn’t like the looks of this, one bit, and if I was more than just a head, easy pickings for them if I said anything, I’d have protested, even if it did mean a shock to my nuts.  I just couldn’t say anything, even as dreadful as the clarity of their intentions were to me.

   “We will start with a video about the process of properly preparing a longpig for our guests.  Other instructions will be forthcoming, but this will serve to inform you of our first purpose before us at this moment,’ said the head black lady who had control over all of us white men.  A projector started up behind us from a peephole.  It shone above the railings onto the far upper wall of the tall warehouse receiving area.  It started with an intro, welcoming us all to the new order.  A black man came onto the screen.  He started:

   “Welcome longpigs.  This instruction video will give you some of the information that the wise among you will take to heart and employ.  By obeying, you become more valuable to us, and thus less likely to succumb to your new status as longpigs.  Now many of you may not know what a longpig is.  Well, a longpig is a farm animal that is destined to be used for food ….”

   Some of the men actually groaned upon hearing this.  I can tell you that my heart sank, and I actually peed the floor, no longer able to retain it.  I was dying from thirst, and couldn’t understand how I could pee, but the despair that swept over me was good enough reason to have done so.

   “… On the warm and fuzzy side, however, is the fact that some of you may earn the right to move up the evolutionary ladder.  The job of house slave, factory laborer, fruit picker, whore or even greater roles, awaits the lucky among you who survive the culling.  The culling, of course, is necessary in order to promote the optimum balance of no more than one white man per twenty citizens.  Any number above that may prove unmanageable.  As for your white women, they have many more uses once they are all properly sterilized, so the culling there is not quite as deep.”

   My god!  What were they doing to my wife?  I’d been so caught up in my own survival that I just didn’t have the time to worry myself ragged over her.  Did they really take her and sterilize her?  What more were they doing to her?

   “… They too are longpigs until they prove otherwise.  The old and the headstrong will not survive the culling, but for you men we are allowing the old a chance that your women do not have.  For white men, being old will only enhance your chances, as we seek to eliminate the breeders among the whites first.  Not to say that your situation is better, given that we have room in the new America for three white slave bitch whores per twenty, making their odds of moving up the ladder three times as good as yours.

   “Now, the solution for you is to learn the tricks that will put you in good standing each culling day.  For now, it is sufficient to make the first example, which is the purpose of this video to prepare you for.  You will learn, for example, how to minimize suffering for your own culling.  As in other things, even a culling has rules of obedience and it serves the longpig well to follow along.  Now, before you is a longpig who has been selected as your example.  It will set your first example.”

   I looked over at Jesse, and he was babbling, though he lacked the courage to actually make sounds.  I felt for him.  Still, I couldn’t do a thing for him.  The way the video was going, it seemed that it was either him or one of the others of us, so I also felt a small amount of relief that it wasn’t me who’d been unlucky and been found in a bad category.

   “So, the first thing to know is that we use only parts of the longpig for slave food.  Most of the food, as you know, in a human pig is located in the legs.  Thus, we don’t make the pig suffer through more than the donation of those selected limbs, given that we also restrict the use of longpig meat and thus have limited demand.  We will give the longpig the option of having our staff do the donations, or of doing the full amputations, meat processing and leather preparation on its own.  The second option includes a local anesthesia designed to eliminate most of the pain of the operation and self-butchering.  The first option does not.  In other words, it will feel almost no pain if it does the work itself.  Trust me when I tell you that it serves your little piggy hinds’ interests to work diligently for the new order – even at this. 

   “Finally, after the longpig has carefully removed its leg limbs all of the way up to the crotch, cut all of the pork into edible bite sized portions, packaged the cuts for the slave meal cook, pre-scraped the leather sufficient for our purse tanners, and set even the tiniest toe bones, white and neatly stripped of sinew into the bone box, it will then be free to use its hands on the railing and move its carcass into the awaiting crematorium for its final journey to white boy hell.  The tunicate bands and spinal anesthesia are designed to allow the longpig sufficient time to make itself into a nearly meatless living carcass.  The carcass then has sufficient time to complete all of the assigned tasks of self disposal before pain sets in.  There is a button in the oven, and all that the carcass needs to remember is to push it as soon as the door shuts behind it, completing its suicide.  The flues will come on, and in time, the heat will become intense enough to finish the little job we have all been working towards.

   “You are entering the system near the thirty percent completion date of the overall project.  This means that by this time next month, over half of the white male population will have been processed into useful meat and leather products.  It is felt that with half of the white population properly disposed of, any risk of rebellion will effectively been eliminated, making the disposal of the second half of the population much easier.

   Any complaints will have been reduced to properly disposed carcasses.  In three more months, we will have our desired quota of a pure minority below that of even the Asians, amounting to a small percentage and easily controlled.  This is very exciting for us, as I’m sure it will be for you as you do your part to help us complete our mission at a world record setting pace.

   “Now, the pain of the oven is, of course, necessary, but relatively short-lived.  Sometimes it takes a few minutes to get you cooking, but I personally enjoy watching a quick flame.  A carcass jerking on the rail and waving its little arms around when it bursts into flames before passing out is thrilling.  You will all get to enjoy it with us, so I hope that we can all enjoy the show.  Some ovens are just better than others.

   “Of course, it may bulk at any of its tasks, but all tasks must be completed by the longpig and then, of course, by the former longpig’s remaining carcass.  That’s you.  If not, the longpig is left to suffer the pain of an un-anesthetized procedure or the completion of a longpig butchering or a carcass’s clean-up tasks at the hands of the willing and experienced staff.  A time penalty is assessed if the longpig or carcass refuses to fully process itself.  Once the carcass is in the oven, it is not unheard of for the staff to disable the oven’s internal self extermination button for as much as a day if the carcass has shown too much hesitation in serving the new order’s needs with sufficient zeal.  Incompetence is similarly rewarded; we expect clean leather with no holes, neat packaging, and all bones white from clean scraping.  The unwilling, weak willed or incompetent carcass is then stewed at low heat for as long as the air holds out.  Trust me, an hour of suffering with two bloody leg stumps is more than sufficient time for a carcass to regret the delayed of the simple task of a carcass’s self-disposal.

   “All longpigs must attend all cullings, even those delayed by a full day of unnecessary suffering.  Since all but one or two of you will eventually become processing longpigs and the subsequent self-exterminating carcass we all are so eager to watch burn itself up, it is best that you learn from the mistakes of any of those animals that might proceed you in the process of making productive meat and leather bi-products for the new order, so pay attention piggies, and remember, any disobedience or misconduct will surely win you the earliest possible processing date.”

   The video went blank.  I couldn’t think.  This was a nightmare.  God, this was worse than Hitler.  We were worse off then the Jews.  All of a sudden, the markings on my body meant something entirely new.  I think I was in shock, because I seemed to wake up with the black face of one of the women looking into my eyes and saying the word, “Pig!”

Then I recalled the instructions she’d given us all while my mind was in limbo, and uttered back as instructed, “I am a pig!”  She moved on, stopping in front of the rest of the man, them too saying the same line as the others of us, “I am a pig.”  I guess we all knew what that meant the moment we’d been forced to say it clearly to the face of one of the captors.

   Then she said, “Now, next time I want you to tell me what I am.  You will replay, “You are a human.”  She walked in front of each of us, and when she came to me I said, “You are a human.”  The lines were clear.

   “It is to your advantage that you remember this.  You see, one of the criteria for an early culling is uppity behavior from a farm animal.  The more you think of yourself as livestock, the better your chance of being one of the few who get to move up to the status of slave.  Some of you may not think of slavery as a good option.  Well, longpig ninety-two is about to convince you that slavery isn’t so bad, and in fact, is well worth working towards.”

   They were done with us, and went back to ninety-two.  Oh my god, I couldn’t even think of him as Jesse.  No, not if I was to survive, I couldn’t.  He was a pig, just like me.  And, they were just about to prove it.  To top it off, we all were totally fatigued, dying of thirst and starving to death.  I hoped beyond all measure that he’d heard the video as well as I had and that he opted to do the job himself.  If not, we’d never make it a full day of watching him suffer.