"Hello, Flare," I smile at you and adjust my glossy pink ribbon, trying to make myself look as cute as possible, "I'm here to tell why I shouldn't be eaten for Thanksgiving dinner."
You raise your eyebrow skeptically, "Yes, that's what most of the pigs and turkeys on this thread came to say. Please continue."
Beaming a little more, I leap off the comfy fushia cushion I was resting on and land on the soft carpeting with skill. I pause dramatically for a moment, contemplating the best way to pose, and quickly strike one, not letting my smile falter. As if I was taking too long, you cough and wave a hand to tell me to hurry on with the show. Without another word, I cleared my throat and swiftly turned on the small microphone attacked to one end of my ribbon.
"Testing, testing," I mutter into it softly, and the echo of my voice from the speakers surrounding every end of the thread confirms its condition, "Seems good."
Sighing, you peer behind your chair and note the growing line of participants. A slightly feeling of nervousness creeps into my mind that I may fail and perhaps lose the only chance I have to tell the world why pigs such as I shouldn't be eaten. With one hoof, I delicately turn the volume on the microphone up to HIGH. The spotlight brightens with one swift flick of my hoof, and the show begins.
"People may say eating turkeys and pigs is traditional, and that it should be done every Thanksgiving just for the sake of doing so," I begin my speech, keeping careful attention to my voice so it didn't go too high, low, or sound funny, "Well, do you know what I say to that?"
On cue, you pipe up, "What?"
"WELL, I BELIEVE IT'S HORRID!" Huffing, I slam one hoof onto the pedestal in front of me, hoping it would crack for a desired effect, "Oh darn, it didn't crack... Oops, I mean, do you know how terrible it is? Just for celebrating, we get eaten. Numbers of us die just for ONE holiday! Do you really believe that's right?"
Quiet murmurs of agreement flitter through the room. I grin, obviously liking the response, and swiftly switch my attention back to you. For a moment, I wonder if now would be the time to start the clip. You cough impatiently once more, and I twitch an eyebrow, feeling rushed. Breathing slowly, I resume my speech.
My arms cross, "Do you believe that? Celebrating is supposed to be for happy times. For your enjoyment, we have to suffer. I had a dear Aunt Sophia who was the kindest pig at the farm. Whenever the other pigs shoved me out of the way when we were let out for whatever reason, she would bark at them until they apologized. I truly respected her for being so caring. However, the farmer didn't take any note of this," My voice becomes hoarse with emotions, and I instinctively reach for a hankerchief in my pocket, "Instead, he killed her the following week. It was the week before Thanksgiving."
Allowing my words to sink in for a moment, I give the cue for the clip to be played. A screen drops down behind me, the loading sign being projected onto it from a projector from above. Your eyes trail to it, focused and curious. I make an impatient noise, and after a few seconds, the clip begins to play. A young pig wearing a blue ribbong around its neck stumbles across the screen, eyes wide and yearning for adventure. A few people in the back of the room aw as it gives the camera an adorable look. However, my point becomes clear when a large box drops onto the piggling, the words SLAUGHTER HOUSE printed on it in big red letters. The movie then shows the slaughter house, and numerous souls drifting upwards. I cringe- I never liked this part, but it was vital to show. A few more seconds later, a set of ribs appear on the screen. Wrapped around the ribs was a bloody blue ribbon. With a small boop, the movie ends.
"It was short," I admit, staring at you in the eye, "But do you really believe anyone deserves to die for a holiday?"
Without waiting for your response, I turn around and walk off the stage, finished.
Normal User
Normal User
Normal User
Normal User
