It was an ordinary morning in the still autumn, a cool breeze brushed the denim carapace of a motionless farmer, eyes creaking open at a stray ray of the morning sun.
Grunts of drowsiness escaped his lungs in a series of breaths. ‘Time to rouse the livestock.’ Three hard raps against the door of the colossal steel barn was all it took to wake most sentient creatures on the farm. Of course, favourites required extra attention. Strolling over to a much smaller, unfittingly luxurious dwelling beside its overgrown counterpart and pushing its doors aside, the farmer had a bright smile with a voice crackling with age, masked by joy.
“Zeus, not much work today, you can continue on with your nap in no time.”
Atop a throne of straw, a muscular cow raised its head to the door, its spoilt gaze lazy and groggy.
Favouritism from the farmer deemed that whatever Zeus obtained on the farm had to be of much higher quality than any other animal. Strange, how he’s still a model who’s always looked up to. After all, no other animals could man the plow. Zeus was the farmer’s pride and glory, who he wakes up everyday to set his gaze upon.
Who wouldn’t love loyalty and practicality?
Following a laughably brief shift of tilling the soil, Zeus had the luxury to take long, peaceful strolls around the farm. He had taken the usual route; through the paddock where the geese and hens tipped their beaks, around the two barns where the stallions and swine acknowledged his appearance, and through a winding maze of enclosures barred by splintering fences. It was at the end of this labyrinth where his gaze swiveled onto Panther, tearing pieces of mangled flesh from his bowl.
A pause from eating, a bark of courtesy, then resuming to enjoy the rich meal before him. Inquisitive thoughts flared in Zeus’ mind. He had seen Panther reveling in the delight of meat, the farmer beaming huge slabs of the thing he’d recently acquired, however not a single strand of fresh grass were in their diet. Grass had been sustenance since he took his first breath; this pink, oozing substance Zeus had no concept of.
Which was when for the first time in asking those questions, inquisitive thoughts manifested intrusive ones.
Three days later, the farmer heaved a good kilogram of meat up on his windowsill. When no stray had gazed towards their sights drifting nearby, Zeus cautiously inched towards the hulking mass of flesh. His jaws cracked open, and a single drop of blood shattered on his outstretched tongue. Something had changed, the world was spinning, the flavour of flesh was rooting itself deep within Zeus’ mind. For a moment he was almost horrified, reeling, gagging, about to break at the mere sight of the pink mass.
Molars grinding against their kin, begging for the lips to remain shut. Consciousness flailing like an unchained beast, wishing to uproot the recent sensation and wishing to eradicate every last trace. No, surely not, he could feel its roots ensnaring every nook and cranny of his mind, erasing all the disgust, the anguish, the shock, substituting them for a new emotion altogether. Zeus fought hard, he really did, but he most certainly didn’t fight long. After a good thirty seconds of inexorable pain, he had reconstituted himself.
Long, firm strides brought him beside the crimson-soaked windowsill, his gaping jaws summoning a thick tendril of saliva.
A few hours later, the farmer stared at the empty windowsill, puzzled.
“Must’ve been the wolves, the bastards.”
Writer – Daniel Kang
Editor – Emma Li
Thumbnail – Photo by I.am_nah on Unsplash
