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Starting Camp Nanowrimo... A few days late, but would I truly be me if I wasn’t late...

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🙃

writing is simple. i put my characters into a situation that i, the author, cannot figure out how to get them out of and i close the document

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Hook, Line, & Sinker (2017)

It took us three days before we started to see shapes in the fog. The Captain, the crew, and myself had set sail for places unknown nearly five weeks previously and had yet to see land. In the past three days, we had been immersed in a dense mist in treacherous waters, only the creaking of the ancient sailing vessel to accompany the silence. Morale was low to say the least and I was on the top of everyone’s list of who to eat first if it really came down to that. And I wouldn’t blame them since we were all here because of me. I did not possess a title as many did on this ship. I wasn’t even a stowaway. There were cabin boys who mopped the decks and riggers who climbed rigging. I couldn’t even be called a mate. No, I was just a man with a map, a plan, and the Queen’s gold to back me.

When the leviathan silhouette rose from the sea, a brief cacophony of excitement pierced the air as the crew whooped and hollered. Though I remained silent, I quivered, and my heart pounded with the anticipation of setting my eyes on the indications of land ahead. I glanced up at the Captain beside me. A grim, bearded fellow, he stood stoically at the helm, his brow drawn down and furrowed across his deep-set eyes. Suddenly, a piercing, animalistic scream tore through the mist, its apparent origin the shadow in the fog. My heart dropped to my stomach and an immediate silence fell across the crew. Two more, tall shadows rose up beside the first, these visibly moving in a fluid-like fashion.

Time seemed to briefly pause before the second and third shadows began to fall. They seemed grow larger and at the same time smaller as they drew forward towards the vessel. I watched in utter silence as two narrow, glistening arms snaked onto either side of the ship. Vaguely, I realized the Captain was calling to me and trying to pull me down, but I was too mesmerized at the sight to take heed.

Just as time had seemed to stop before, everything seemed to happen at at once. The dark arms crashed down into the ocean on either side of the boat. The waves which receded from the landing of the arms colluding beneath the ship, causing it to rise in the air. It hung there briefly before the wave vanished, then quickly disappeared beneath my feet.

I remembered next coming to consciousness to screaming, my face plastered against the deck, my clothes soaked in seawater. Crew members ran past me in both directions as the Captain tried in vein to control the ship and his crew at the same time. The creature added its scream occasionally as it tangled its long feelers within the masts. Its broad, porpoise-like mouth had closed around the figurehead, its yellowed fangs piercing the wooden flesh of the mighty Poseidon. Large, amber eyes rolled on either side of its skull occasionally being covered by a milky-white secondary eyelid.

There was a great crack and the second and largest of the masts teetered and began to fall under the pressure of the monster’s arm. It crashed across the stern, throwing men from the rigging into the sea and trapping the arm beneath it. The creature screamed, letting go of the figurehead and thrashing the ship back and forth. The Captain collapsed across the wheel with a heavy sigh and I knew were resigned to our fate.

To cement that thought in my mind, two more heads rose from the depths, nearly twice the size of the first. More arms followed. They rose up casting shadows across what was left of the ship. At that moment the fog dissipated. The sun that cascaded down upon us turned the black, intimidating beasts into blue, iridescent beauties. Their eyes became gold orbs and their arms became delicate tendrils. I then saw, even more beautiful than the monsters, the land beyond the vast, unending sea. I’d found it. I closed my eyes in relief as the ship sank beneath the weight of the dark arms and the waves.

Original Post // Writing Prompt #544 

Photo by JOHN TOWNER on Unsplash

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The Best Bacon

This is my submission for the first round of the 2021 NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge. Enjoy!

The Best Bacon

by RL Wilson

Fairy Tale/Impenetrable/a coward

It is a common misconception that farm animals are unaware of their destinies. In fact, they are more aware of their fates than most humans are of theirs. Most farm animals are okay with knowing and sometimes even proud of their purpose. A dairy cow will give milk until its dying day. A sheep, its wool. Horse and oxen provide labor and transport. And what about a pig?

“Mama,” the little piglet squeaked, “How do I become the best bacon?”

Mama snorted from her wallow as the piglet’s siblings suckled greedily at her teats, “You eat, silly piggy.”

And so, the piglet dove in to join his brothers and sisters. The piglet ate and ate until he was near to bursting with milk but could not catch up to his brothers and sisters. One by one they outgrew him. And one by one the farmer came and led them away until the little piglet was the only one left.

“Mama,” said the little pig, “When will the farmer come for me? I want to be good bacon!”

Mama snorted, “Soon, silly piggy.”

But that day did not come, and little pig grew sad. He would never become big enough to be good bacon for the farmer and his family.

One day, when the farmer arrived, he did not come alone. He led a fiery, brown pony with his daughter astride. The pony tossed his head and the girl broke into peals of laughter as the little pig looked on in curiosity.

“You have to groom and feed him every day, my daughter,” the farmer said. “Clean his pen too!”

The girl jumped off the pony and hugged her father, “Thank you, Papa!”

And she came every day, just as her father asked, and the pig found a welcome distraction from his melancholy. She groomed the pony until his coat glistened and the pony would prance proudly as she rode him the field. She mucked the stall and added fresh straw every day. The pony grew rounder and prouder with the feed she gave him. The farmer came everyday too, but not to take the little pig to the butcher’s block. He fed Mama and the little pig with a frown.

“Mama pig, what am I to do with your runt?” He asked Mama one day with a shake of his head. “He is too small to make a proper meal!”  

 The girl, finished with her chores, came over and climbed the fence to look in on the pig, who sat in the muck staring forlornly at his hooves.

“Papa, he looks so sad! Does he have to become sausage? He could be a friend for my pony! He probably wouldn’t be very good sausage.”

The little pig’s ears drooped even more. He was sad to hear the words of the farmer and his daughter. He had a dream of being the fattest pig and the best bacon, but it seemed he was not even good enough for that. He wouldn’t even make good sausage!  

The farmer frowned, “Pigs are not pets, my daughter.”

“Please, Papa!” She begged, hugging her father around the neck.    

The farmer grinned, unable to resist, “Okay, my sweet, but you will be responsible for him and the pony.”

“Yes, Papa!”

And so, the little pig finally said goodbye to his mama and went to live with the pony on the other side of the barnyard. His excitement at possibly being more than bad sausage was interrupted by the cruelty of the pony. The pony chased and nipped at the little pig in good fun, laughing as the pig tried to escape on its short, stumpy legs. The pig ran and ran until was wishing to become sausage again.

The little pig’s only respite was when the little girl came to care for him and the pony. The pony would leave him be and the little girl would bring him baskets filled with leftovers from the farmhouse and the bakery in town. The farmer had only given slop to the little pig and his mouth watered at the sight of fresh vegetables and stale baked goods the girl brought. Potatoes and cabbage and carrots! Stale loaves of sourdough and rye! Sometimes she even brought pie! Sweet pies, savory pies. They became his favorite treat. She would give him a good scratch under his bristly chin and then feed him the delectable goodies.

To both the surprise of the pig and the farmer, the little pig grew to not be so little. With all the food, care, and even all the running he did to avoid the pony’s harassment, he grew fatter and more muscular than any of his siblings had been. However, he found himself not wanting to become bacon anymore. He loved the little girl and how he loved pies! The farmer’s longing glances began to fill the pig with a sense of dread instead of pride.

One day, the little girl came out with a basket containing an apple pie, still steaming from the oven. The pig immediately began to drool at the sight. The girl smiled, but it was a sad smile. She carefully laid the pie in front of the pig and he dove snout first through the warm crust. As he ate, she leaned against him and scratched his favorite spot behind his ears.

“Papa says you are ready to be good bacon,” She sniffed, and the and the pig understood her sadness. However, this was his destiny! To become the best bacon!

“I love you little pig!” She said before breaking into tears and running towards the pony.

Crying, the girl rode the pony out the gate and onto the forest trail. The pig wondered if you could be both sad and happy at the same time. He was sad to leave the girl, but he was happy to final serve his purpose as a pig!

The pig was lying happily in a wallow, bathing in the warmth of the sun to enjoy his final day, when the pony came racing out of the woods.

“Pig! Pig!” The pony wailed. “There is a monster in the wood!”

The pig rose, blinking in his warm stupor to see the pony was disturbingly riderless.

“Pig! The girl fell! I spooked and she fell! Oh, the monster has her! She’s doomed!”

“You left her behind?!” The pig cried, sticking its snout through the fence as the pony shook in his hooves. The pony only lowered his head in shame.

The pig had always believed he was destined to be bacon. He had been proud to become good bacon and to provide to farmer’s family. If he faced a monster, it could kill him and then how would he become good bacon? Besides, what could a little pig like him do? He wasn’t a strong pony or even a boar, but the little girl was in trouble. His little girl! He could stay and wait for the farmer to help her or… He stamped a hoof as he made up his mind.

He backed up to the far corner of the pen and ran as fast as he could toward the fence. The board’s shook with the impact of the pig’s head but did not budge. He did it again. And again. And again.

His snout was filled with splinters, but he didn’t stop. Blood welled from a cut across it as he stepped back one last time. With a squeal, he reared up and leapt forward. He slammed into the boards, the two lowest snapping in a flurry of splinters. The pig tumbled through. Dazed, he shook his head and sniffed at the air. Catching the girl’s scent, he took off running in the wood.

The sound of the boards snapping in twain snapped the pony out of his fright and he followed the pig into the forest. The pig traced the girl’s scent to a glen in the middle of the wood. The pony whinnied in fright as he slid to a stop.

“Oh, there it is! The monster!” He cried.

The pig stared in disbelief. The “monster” was the shadow of a gnarled albeit ugly dead tree on the face of a large rock. The pig ignored the pony’s cries and snuffled at the earth in search of the girl’s scent. He followed the smell around the tree. The little girl sat up against the trunk, hugging her skinned knees to her chest as tears ran down her cheeks. When she saw the pig, she cried out with relief and flung her arms around his thick, pink neck.

“Oh pig!” She cried, “I was so frightened! My leg is hurt, and I thought no one would ever find me, but you came for me!”

The pig told the pony to fetch the farmer and the pony eagerly galloped back out of the wood and away from the “monster”. The girl hopped over to the pig on one leg. She clambered on his back and he carried her carefully out of the wood. The farmer was waiting for them with the pony’s reins in his hands and his face pale with fright for his daughter. He scooped the girl from the pig’s back and into his arms. She sobbed into his broad shoulder as he carried her home.

The farmer came back later to find the pig sitting among the broken fence rails. He called the pig and the pig walked through the hole to stand in front of the farmer. He looked up at the farmer and the farmer looked back with a puzzled smile. The farmer knelt in front of the pig and laid a warm hand on the pig’s head.

“You would have been mighty fine bacon, little pig” the farmer laughed.

The pig never saw the butcher’s block. He lived out his days loved by both the farmer and his daughter. The girl grew older, but she still cared for him every single day, often sneaking him fresh pie from her mother’s kitchen and inviting him on her rides with the pony. The pig died of old age in a meadow of wildflowers under the warmth of the spring sun with the farmer, his daughter, and the old brown pony at his side. Not once in the rest of his lifetime did he think about becoming bacon ever again.

Many believe farm animals are unaware of their fate as food. In fact, they are more aware of their destiny than most humans and find comfort, even pride, in the knowing. They give into the fact that their destiny is unyielding and unchangeable. However, there are some that take matters into their own hooves and force their fate to change.

The End.

Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave critique. This is the first piece of writing I have made public personally and not really reflective of my usual style, but it was fun to write all the same! 

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash