The Haunting of the Flapper

The speakeasy roared with jazz; the blasting of brass instruments filled the ears of the people on the dance floor. And for Charlotte, they filled the hole in her soul as well. She was out for a night of drinking with her boyfriend, John, and she was ready to, once again, forget her troubles. Yes, the flapper was ready to let the music and the spirits and the cocaine numb her.

And afterward, during the early hours of the morning, when the party had finally died down, her and John would polish the night off with some wild sex. This might simply mean a night of rope play—or, if Charlotte and John were lucky, it might mean bringing another girl home with them—or, if they were really lucky, another couple girls. The most they had ever managed was two, but both Charlotte and John wanted to try for three. They wanted to test the limit, see how many ladies they could pick up at once. (Much to Charlotte’s dismay however, John was completely opposed to the notion of bringing home another man.)

John, who had gone off to fetch their drinks, returned. He passed Charlotte a gin on the rocks, her favourite. As for himself, he was drinking a Bee’s Knees—a very popular gin beverage, one with lemon, and of course, honey, hence the name. Charlotte, however, preferred her gin straight.

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Author’s note: Nothing in this piece of writing is fictional. Every one of the horrors found in this story happens everyday. In fact, they are happening right now, as I write this. This is how we treat pigs. I felt, as both a vegetarian and a writer, it was my duty to write this story, with the intention of raising awareness for animal abuse. My information was gathered from a documentary titled Dominion, available for free on YouTube. If you still eat pigs, and feel good about that choice, I highly recommend you watch the documentary. Now, on with the story…

Your earliest memories reside at the farrowing crate, where you feed from your mother. This is really more of a cage, what with its metal bars. The farrowing crate is so small, your mother’s body just barely squeezes inside. Perfect to keep her in one place, while you and your many siblings feed from her.

In fact, because the farmer forced your mother to have such a large litter, seven of your thirty-nine brothers and sisters have been born dead. But a large litter is needed, to keep us humans fed. We do like our sausage and bacon, after all.

That is why your mother is forced to birth so many piglets; us humans need them to grow big and fat, so we can keep ourselves satisfied.

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