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jadegem20 · 13 days
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jadegem20 · 18 days
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jadegem20 · 6 months
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jadegem20 · 7 months
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jadegem20 · 8 months
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Ængus the Prize-Winning Hog
Through the rolling hills and down a steep incline layed a shallow cranberry bog that sparkled in the sunlight. It was filled with thousands of deep red, swollenly ripe berries. The bog had just been flooded and the water was crisp and fresh on that cool October morning.
Wading beside the raking farmers, and gobbling as many sour berries as he could, was Ængus. He was a small pink pig covered in sparse white hairs. He loved this time of year when the leaves turn and the air smells like apple cider.
He would always find himself swimming through the cranberry bogs in the morning to lazily catch his breakfast. Then he would waddle up to the sprawling fields of sweet corn for lunch. Lastly, he would always end his day with a trip to the local pumpkin patch so he could snack on the gourds while the children rubbed his belly.
On this day, though, as he took his morning dip, Ængus heard the farmers talking about the state fair that was just two towns away. They talked about the many dishes of sweet and savory foods that were being judged. They talked about the rides and games that made people laugh and scream with excitement. Most compelling of all, at least to Ængus, was the talk of the shiny blue ribbons the judges give out to contest winners.
Ængus could just imagine standing still and tall as a ribbon was draped around his neck and the whole crowd cheered. He just had to have a ribbon.
So, that fateful morning, Ængus finished his breakfast, dried off on the shore, and started walking to the state fair. He traveled through the red, yellow, and orange countryside admiring the cool fall breeze and the crunch of the leaves beneath his hooves. After about three hours and a ride from a farmer, a trucker, and even a cyclist, Ængus had made it to the state fair.
The old farmers had not done the fair justice in Ængus’s opinion. Music from a band filled the air and complemented the sweet smell of food and fall. Ængus watched as a young girl smacked on a candy apple and an older boy tasted each of the pies that were out for judging. Toddlers were bobbing for apples while their parents enjoyed warm cider. Everywhere he looked there were red, yellow, and orange decorations.
Soon he came across a small stage with a big banner. “Vote For the Prize Winning Hog!” This is what he had come for. He studied the other pigs that had gathered around the stage and thought they were quite lacking. None were quite as pink as he was. None were quite as plump. He would be the best pig and win the blue ribbon!
As the farmer started showing each of the swine, a small crowd gathered and watched. They didn’t watch too closely, some were distracted by their cider or candied apples, others found the hogs boring and just decided to find something more interesting to do. But when Ængus waddled onto the stage, something changed.
The crowd watched and admired just how perfect a specimen Ængus really was. From the powdery pink of his skin to the perfect spiral of his tail, he really was the best pig. As he stood on the stage the crowd grew larger and larger. After just two minutes, most of the fair had come to gawk at him.
Ængus did not mind. He quite liked the attention. He held his chin high and even spun around a few times so everyone had a chance to glimpse at his body. He decided to strike a pose by turning sideways and sticking one leg forward and one leg back. The people swooned at the swine. Ængus smiled, the crowd loved him. He pranced around the stage and twirled a few times.
The cheers grew louder with every step he took, “Ængus the prize winning hog!”
He hopped a few times and danced his way across a piano that was nearby. The cheers swelled in his chest, “Ængus the prize winning hog!”
He continued his tune on the piano and a few people also took up instruments and joined in. Soon he was oinking along to the music as the crowd danced and cheered, “Almightier than God! Ængus the prize winning hog!”
Somewhere along in the haze of bodies and shouts, the blue ribbon was slipped around Ængus’s neck. It hung low and heavy with the weight of a thousand hungry stares and a thousand more desperate wants. Yet, he danced with the crowd, played his tune, and listened as the crow chanted along:
“Ængus is the leader Ængus is the brother Ængus is the father Ængus is the Savior Ængus is the answer Always and forever Ængus will protect you Follow him forever Ængus for Governor! Ængus for President! Ængus for Chancellor! Ængus for Everything!”
The party lasted day in and day out, sun up to sun down, sun down to sun up, day after day after day, until the weather cooled enough to see the breath of your closest neighbor. Even still, the crowd wanted to dance, sing, and celebrate. But not everyone in that crowd was pleased.
As the first snowflakes of the season brushed the delicate white hair on the rump of that prize winning hog, a tall muscular man climbed onto the stage. He stood steady in heavy leather boots and wore a stark white apron outfitted with a utility belt of sharp knives. Ængus felt unease filling his stomach as he looked over the man. He watched as the man smiled at him. A mouth full of glistening pointy teeth. Ængus swore he could feel the greedy hunger in the man’s gaze.
He aimed his barbed smile at the quiet crowd, “Aren’t you people forgetting an important tradition?”
The wind picked up murmurs from the people as they wondered who the man was and why he stopped the party. The man paced in a small circle, seemingly unaware the crowd was whispering about him.. He pulled a long sharp knife from his belt and slowly raised it to point at the pig. “The winning hog is feasted upon on the last night of the fair,” The Butcher rested his hungry eyes on the perfect swine, “And that night, is tonight.”
The chill in the air had nothing to do with the goosebumps that crawled their way across Ængus’s flesh. He looked over at the murmuring crowd and imagined their gaunt faces from the long days of dancing. He imagined the gnawing hunger squeezing their stomachs and the thrill of their mouths watering as they anticipated fresh meat.
Amidst all of the murmuring, hunger, and watering mouths, Ængus saw the golden blonde locks of an angel float up above the crowd and make a proclamation, “What if we changed the tradition?” There was a small buzz of agreement flowing through the people. “Are you suggesting we let this impeccable pig go to waste?” The Butcher looked over at Ængus and his tongue snaked around his dry lips, the hunger clear on his face.
Another angel called out, closer to the front this time, and draped in white, “That's just an old wive’s tale!” The hum of agreement was louder this time.
With a fabricated hand over his heart The Butcher feigned a deep aversion to the idea, “Even the notion of breaking tradition is a slap to the face of history and could curse the town with a bad harvest.” In the glow of the warm decorative lights, Ængus watched as a final angel made a stand, “I think The Butcher is just out for blood.” The hum of agreement grew into a roar of animosity as the crowd sized up The Butcher.
“Don’t you see I am one of you,” The Butcher said, anger and fear mixing on his face, “I am doing this for the people, he is just a hog.” The people didn't listen to the pleading butcher, instead they looked over at Ængus. There was fury in their eyes, but also something else. A question. They were looking for him to give permission. They wanted Ængus to approve. They wanted him to lead. The sudden realization hit Ængus like a truck: he had come for fame, but he had received power too. With a small curt nod, he watched with his jaw hanging open as the crowd moved as one.
“Run Mr. Butcherman!” the first angel taunted with a sickening laugh. Others joined in on the teasing as the mass of people descended on The Butcher.
The Butcher saw that he had lost and decided to run. He ran through the fair with its sweet smells, candied apples, and cider. He ran through the red, yellow, and orange decorations. He ran right through the forest and left a trail of sticky red blood as the leafless branches clawed into his chest.
For the first time in his life as a prey, Ængus felt the blood of a predator pounding through his veins. He hunted right along with the humans, calling, tormenting, and pursuing The Butcher until late in the bitter unforgiving night. Finally, when the fun of the chase had worn through their cold bones, they captured the butcher and celebrated with a feast, but it wasn’t Ængus that roasted over the triumphal fire.
With full stomachs and the burning warmth of the fire filling the air, the people sang out:
“Ængus is the leader Ængus is the brother Ængus is the father Ængus is the Savior Ængus is the answer Always and forever Ængus will protect you Worship him forever!”
Ængus let the celebration wash over him. The people served him full plates of roasted meat and treats scavenged from what was left of the fair. He imagined the people chanting his name and indulging his every want until the day he took his last breath. Comforted by the thought he slowly fell asleep, dreaming of that sour cranberry bog, barely noticing the biting cold of a long hard winter setting in around him.
*****
This story was inspired by the song "Ængus the Prize-Winning Hog" by The Toxhards. Great music. I thought it would be fun to write their song into a short story.
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jadegem20 · 9 months
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jadegem20 · 10 months
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jadegem20 · 10 months
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I curl into a ball as the hero slowly walks closer. Blood pools from my face down to the asphalt covered roof. I definitely have a few missing teeth and a couple broken ribs. This was how every fight between us went, me cowering and him victorious. I just want one thing. I just need one thing.
“Do you surrender?” he asks.
I turn my head and face him the best I can, and stay quiet. If I’m going down, I’m not losing my dignity.
He stops right in front of me. I can feel his eyes roam across my prone body. “I said, do you surrender?” he booms as he releases another kick straight into my side.
I clench my teeth as I hear another crack and new pain blooms. Tears threaten to escape, but I squeeze my eyes shut.
“You don’t get it do you,” he laughs that charming laugh. The same one they air on the nightly news praising his heroics. The same one that has women and men alike fawning over him. The same one he used when he took her from me. “You don’t get to win, you don't get freedom, and you don’t get the girl. You're a villain.”
With that he let another kick fly. His boot connects with my face making a sickening crack echo in my skull. The force makes me roll to my back. In the blindness of my pain, I almost miss something. The something digging into my back.
I wasn’t always hated. I wasn't always desperate. I was once a top student at MIT. In nano engineering in fact. The gun that is currently pressed into my back is designed to rip atoms apart, effectively vaporizing a target. I had been planning on using it to vaporize the bunker door that hid a secret government prison on the longshot that she was hidden deep inside.
I hadn't used the gun on anything living, much less something that was indestructible by mortal standards.
“What happened to women being just as strong as men?” he says as he reaches down and grabs me by the neck. My vision blurs in and out with pain and lack of oxygen as he drags me to the edge of the roof. “All of that feminist bull shit is the reason why humanity is weak. Strength is what matters, and I think we’ve proven who has won in that department.”
He lifts me up by my throat and places me right on the edge. My heels hang sixty stories above the ground. I shakingly reach around my back and grab the gun. He watches with a smirk as I point it right at his forehead.
“You know that can’t-” he starts, but I pull the trigger.
The ray is invisible and almost instantaneous. In the blink of an eye, I am staring through the head of my once mortal enemy. His hands fall away and his body drops to the ground. His face may have once been handsome, but it is now unrecognizable.
I wait for him to stand back up. One breath. Two breaths. No movement.
Suddenly, relief fills my body. He isn't in my way anymore. He isn't going to hurt me. He isn't going to hurt her.
I killed a man and all I can feel is relief.
Screw it, I am the villain, and I will get the girl.
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jadegem20 · 11 months
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I closed the curtains and blocked out the rest of the hazy light that struggled its way through the smoke and debris. The power had gone out an hour ago and I had officially turned off the news about three hours before that. The constant blaring of the emergency alert system had been making my head ache. They didn't have anything new to say anyway.
I found my way, in the darkness of the highrise, to the liquor cabinet and grabbed the bottle of ‘82 whiskey that was stashed away for our anniversary. I slowly creeped back to our room listening to the eerie silence of a city that has stopped breathing.
I stopped with my hand on the brass door knob and waited. For what? I don’t know exactly. A miracle? A worm hole back in time? An ounce of hope? Nothing found me, in that dark apartment hallway on the 64th floor in the middle of downtown New York. No particle of light revealed itself to me, one alive among the millions dead and dying.
With a creak, I found myself opening that cream colored door.
The air was still and smelled of the cinnamon candle you had lit in the corner. The dim flame flickered as the air from opening the door passed through the room, then flickered again when I walked past it. I smoothed the covers on my side of the bed before sitting on top of them. I cracked open the whiskey and took a deep swig. It burned going down, but at this point physical pain didn't matter as much.
I looked over on your side of the bed. The comforter was disheveled and lumpy. I could see your dark hair laying on your pillow. It draped over your face, like it had done many times before in your sleep. I could almost believe you were sleeping if not for the unnatural stillness of the body below the covers and the empty bottle of pills on your nightstand.
At least the tears had stopped flowing, but I suspected there wasn’t anything left in me to cry. I took another swig of whiskey and frowned at the burn of life inside me.
Most people would have some regrets or longing for the life that they once had. I did. And I grieved. For whatever this earth had been. For whatever I once was. For the mess we had made. And lastly, for you. My happiness, my love, my person.
There wasn’t anything left of me to give. The world is empty, and so am I.
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jadegem20 · 1 year
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jadegem20 · 1 year
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These are a few pieces that I made based on my poems. You can check them out on my Redbubble in my bio. (I also do funny stickers for anyone interested!)
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jadegem20 · 1 year
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jadegem20 · 1 year
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jadegem20 · 1 year
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jadegem20 · 1 year
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jadegem20 · 1 year
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jadegem20 · 1 year
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