Sex and Murder Magazine

By Garrett Ashley

Fat Herring bought a nice plump live pig. Just the sound of its frightened squeals made his jaw drop and his tongue trickle wet. He put the thing on a leash and walked it to his little house far away from the market. Inside, the smell of burnt flesh stained the air.

He showed a rough dagger to the pig and told it what was to come. "First you'll go in the pan, then into my mouth," he said. Herring's teeth were yellow and deformed. The smell of meth. The pig squealed and made the fat little man laugh.

"Don't cry," he said. "Elton John taught me a long time ago about the circle of life. You're doing your part by dying."

He had never heard such a noise in his life. His stomach growled.

"When you go down my throat you'll be dead," he said. "There's nothing to fear in there. Your last dreams will be of mud and young, lady pigs. You'll find animals just like yourself where you're going."

He stabbed the pig and grilled it whole. Never mind the entrails. The insides are the best part. The pig stopped squealing. In fact, it had never had such a good sleep.

Herring slapped on a few slices of pineapple and sugar. When all the drama had ended Herring looked quietly at the meal before him and ate it right there off the stovetop. The taste of ham, bacon and pineapple was too much a treat for his liking.

When the whole thing had been consumed he rubbed his belly. How his bowels thundered! "Good meat," he said. "Good, good, good."

But then the thundering became a roar. Something squealed inside him. "What are you doing?" he cried. "Settle down in there."

Inside, the pig hated its new friends. They didn't say much. Incidentally the pig did not recognize what its new friends were. It cried and begged to be let free.

"You'll be gone one day," said Herring. "If you give me heartburn you'll be sorry."

The sad pig hammered and raged against Herring's insides. It crashed its tusks against the wall of the fat man's stomach and ripped its way through Herring's innards. It poured out onto the ground like a squealing newborn child.

Herring coughed. He looked at the mess down by his feet. And his broken stomach. And the little deformed animals that had been set free by their newest companion. They inched away in every direction within the kitchen. Some hid behind the stove and others behind the refrigerator.

Herring felt blood trickle down his legs and blacked out. He had terrible dreams of being eaten alive.

The burnt, half-digested pig looked on the floor and saw its mother. A fat, filthy, human man. Fit for a meal, if flavored with enough pineapples and sugar.