Pig Butchering, The Awakening

Beneath a twilight cloaked in quiet gloom,
He awakens amid decay and whispered doom;
Rotting leaves and damp earth confess
A subtle change of his mortal dress.No longer wholly man in form or deed,
He stands at dusk where latent secrets breed.

I woke up to damp earth and the scent of rotting leaves. My breath came in heavy, shuddering bursts, fogging the crisp morning air. My limbs felt strange—thick, uncoordinated. My skin was rough, bristled. I tried to sit up, but my body didn’t move as expected. I tumbled forward, landing hard on all fours.

Then I heard it. The deep, guttural snort that wasn’t mine, yet came from my own throat.

Terror struck me like a hammer. My hands—gone. My fingers—lost. My body was squat, heavy, covered in coarse fur. My heart pounded in my chest, but even its rhythm felt wrong—too deep, too slow. I was no longer a man. I was a pig.

A sharp whistle cut through the trees. My ears twitched, turning toward the sound without my control. Instinct roared through me, raw and primal, and before I could process what was happening, my legs were moving—thundering through the underbrush, snapping twigs, kicking up dirt.

Then came the footsteps. Slow. Measured. Purposeful.

I ran harder, but the hunter didn’t have to rush. He knew I would tire first. A crack split the air—a sharp, searing pain bloomed in my flank. I stumbled, my legs giving way, the world a blur of green and brown as I crashed to the forest floor. My breathing came in ragged, choking grunts. Then the net fell, heavy and thick, pinning me to the earth.

I fought, but the struggle was over before it began.

I awoke in darkness.

The scent was the first thing that hit me—thick, metallic, nauseating. Blood. The walls around me were wooden slats, damp and reeking of filth. Other pigs huddled around me, their bodies pressed together, shivering, silent. I could hear them breathing. Could hear my own breath, deep and bestial.

A high-pitched scream cut through the air. Not a human scream, not exactly—but not just an animal’s either. Something between the two. Something raw.

A gate groaned open. The pigs in front of me were prodded forward. I watched them disappear through the doorway, their hooves clicking on the wet concrete. Then, moments later—another scream. A sharp, electric whine. The sound of bodies hitting metal.

Then silence.

My turn came.

The gate creaked again. A figure loomed before me—broad-shouldered, face covered by a stained mask. The hunter. The butcher. His hands, thick and scarred, gripped a long metal rod.

I thrashed, but there was nowhere to go. Hands seized me, pulling me forward, out of the pen, onto the cold, slick floor. The room was bathed in sickly yellow light, shadows pooling in the corners. Chains hung from the ceiling, dripping red. A great, rusted funnel stood at the center, feeding into a massive drain. I did not understand what it was for.

Not yet.

The butcher pressed the rod against my head. A sharp, electric jolt ripped through my skull. My vision shattered, my muscles locked, my body collapsed beneath me. I felt my own weight sink, my consciousness swimming just beneath the surface of reality. I was still there, still aware, but my body would no longer respond.

Rough hands lifted me, my weight no longer my own. I was hoisted onto a rusted hook, my hind legs stretching toward the ceiling, my head dangling toward the floor. The blood-rusted metal bit into my flesh, but I could not move. Could not scream. Could only watch.

The butcher stepped forward. His cleaver gleamed, sharp and merciless. He placed it at my throat, just below my jawline, pressing lightly, feeling the pulse that still pounded—sluggish, slow.

This is it.

The blade slid deep.

A flood of warmth spilled from my throat, cascading down in thick ribbons. The world flickered at its edges, the dim light swimming. My ears rang, my heartbeat hammering against my skull. It was leaving me. My life. My thoughts. My self.

As the last dregs of consciousness slipped away, something clicked.

This had never been a nightmare.

I had always been a pig.