Piggy

Lyrics inserted at the beginning are from Nine Inch Nails "Piggy," on Downward Spiral.

This is just a little piece I started a few years back, lost interest in, and recently went back over and did some work on. Rating is for language and some pretty explicit sexual dialogue.

Hey pig

“Now, why don’t you tell me…what do you think?”

Yeah you

Hey pig piggy pig pig pig

All of my fears came true

“Because you know…I’d really like to hear about it.”

Black and blue and broken bones you left me here I'm all alone

My little piggy needed something new

“I mean, we can talk for hours. Get it all out in the open. Seriously, you can take as long as you want. I don’t have any plans for the next…I don’t know…month or so. How about you?”

Nothing can stop me now

I don't care anymore

Nothing can stop me now

I just don't care

“Of course, if you’re busy, then I’ll wait. I can wait for as long as you need, you know, if you wanna just chill for a while. Think about things. Maybe think about why were here right now.”

Hey pig

“You can just let me know.”

Nothing's turning out the way I planned

“I thought about it for a while, but I really couldn’t come up with anything. Oh, yeah, by the way, how has your day been so far?”

Hey pig

“Mine has actually been kind of shitty.”

There’s a lot of things I hoped you could help me understand

“See, I woke up with kind of a headache, and then the shower was way too cold and I couldn’t find my keys. Oh yeah, and then there’s the fact I’m fucking trapped in this little shit room with you until kingdom fucking come.”

What am I supposed to do?

I lost my shit because of you

“At least it can’t get any worse now, right?”

Nothing can stop me now

I don't care anymore

Nothing can stop me now

I just don't care

Nothing can stop me now

“Whatever. Don’t talk. You not talking isn’t exactly going to be the worst thing that’s happened to me in the last couple days.”

You don't need me anymore

The room was small, in a way that couldn’t be measured in square feet. It was more of a feeling, the sense of compactness that could be felt during long airplane flights or in a closet. Obviously not designed for more then one person, it looked like a hotel room made for people who were blind. The walls were a light kind of grey, smooth and artificial. The floor was carpeted, soft and beige, the kind of carpet that was supposed to be soothing and comfortable but ended up just a novelty that wore off after a few hours.. In the center of the room there was a simple double bed, also made of wood but with a curving brass headpiece. The bed was covered by a simple white sheet. The room was roughly square, with two doors to the left and right of the bed. The door to the right was made of sturdy looking wood and had a shiny brass knob. The knob was the only thing on the door, the surface lacking any kind of design, keyhole, or window. It was locked. The door to the left looked exactly the same, except the knob was silver. This door led to a small bathroom that had a simple sink, toilet, and shower. There was a red cup sitting next to the sink. Standing next to the bed was a plain nightstand, made of the same wood as the bed and doors. The table had one small drawer, which contained a Bible and a #2 pencil. In the opposite corner of the room facing the door was a large armchair that, along with the bed, dominated the room and increased the feeling of smallness. All the walls were blank. Light filtered from a shaft in the ceiling that curved in such a way that it was impossible to see how far away the surface was, or even whether it was sunlight or not. The room contained no windows.

“Who gets the bed?” Her voice was somewhere between timid and sullen.

“Do you honestly think you deserve it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then why should you get it instead of me?”

She hesitated for moment.

He spoke first. “Because you have a vagina instead of a penis, you get first pick of whatever luxury there is.”

“A bed isn’t a luxury.”

“In this little shithole it is.”

“Fine.” She stood up and took the cushion off the armchair, where she had been sitting. Walking past him to the other side of the room, she set the cushion in the corner closest to the door that was locked, near the foot of the bed.

He laughed. “Do you actually think I’m gonna feel bad about this?”

Her voice was cutting, bitter, sarcastic. “What would ever have made me think that?”

For a moment, their eyes met and locked. Her gaze was resentful but steady, unmoving. His was disdainful, condescending and judgmental, but he was the one who looked away first, falling back onto the bed and laughing softly.

“Why, God? Why couldn’t I get locked in a room with Kelly? Or Alex or Katie or-“

“I guess God just hates your fucking guts.”

This caught him off guard. Her voice had been so full of anger and bitterness. He half sat up, looking at her with a strange, curious expression. Her eyes were blankly fixed on the carpet at her feet. He stared at her for almost a minute, but she never looked up, and he finally sank back down onto the bed. Silence fell over the room.

It took them both about fifteen minutes to realize that there was absolutely nothing to do in the room. There was nothing to look at, not even bricks to count or cracks to trace in the ceiling like in all the prison stories. No baseball to bounce off the wall. No carving messages in stone or tapping Morse code to a neighboring cell. There was no drama, no suspense like in the movies, just the long, long hours ahead. It was like reading a five hundred page book when all the pages are blank.

“So how the hell are they gonna feed us?” This time he was the one that broke the silence.

“Maybe they won’t.”

“Yeah, OK, they’re not gonna kill us, so that means we’ve got to get food sometime.”

“What if they did want to kill us?”

“Yeah, but they don’t, because they have any fucking reason to.” Frustration showed in his voice.

“But what if they did?”

“Well I guess I’d see you in hell then, but since I was talking about real shit and not your little emo fantasy world, that doesn’t fucking matter.”

She was sitting on the cushion, back against the wall, facing him. Her head was turned to the side, knees pulled up to her chest. Her eyes were sullen and trapped.

“Fuck.” He had sat up again, leaning against the headboard of the bed, but now he slid down again, stretching full out on the bed.

There was still nothing to do.

“I wonder…” He trailed off.

“I wonder,” he continued, “if they would stop us from doing shit. Like if I tried to break the walls or the door or the bed, or maybe flood the room. Or-“

“Or if you tried to rape me?”

The silence was a palpable presence in the room.

He sat up slowly and looked at her, with an attention that he had to this point disdained to show to her. There was a little surprise, but mostly he seemed to be revaluating, seeing her from a whole new perspective.

Her eyes were like a stone wall. “You don’t have the balls.”

“It’s not balls, more like not having the stomach.” There was no venom behind the words, though. He met her eyes, but not with any kind of anger or contempt. More of a measuring, confused look, like he was holding the last piece of a puzzle, but it didn’t fit in the last space.

She turned her head again, and her short, black hair hid her face from his eyes. He continued to stare for a while, the same calculating, uncomprehending look on his face. She made no attempt to continue the conversation, and he let the silence be, watching her. After a couple minutes he got up from the bed and went into the bathroom. He spent about 30 seconds aimlessly searching around, looking for nothing in particular and not finding it. There was only the cup, sink, toilet, one towel, and the shower, no cupboards, no shampoo or soap, no toothbrush, no mirror. He returned to the room after a moment and fell back onto the bed, putting his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. There was a short silence.

“So…what’s your story? I mean, before you fucked us both over, what did you do? Who’d you hang out with?”

“Why do you care?” she continued to stare at the wall on the opposite side of the room.

“Well, I hate to admit it, but I think talking to you might actually be more interesting than staring at the ceiling. Could be wrong, though.”

“You’re probably wrong.”

“OK but seriously, there is fucking nothing to do in this place, and unless you have a better idea, not fucking ignoring each other might actually kill some time.” His tone changed subtly, from outright mocking hostility to a kind of frustrated reason.

She seemed to hesitate for a moment.

“You wouldn’t know any of my friends.”

“Really. Like who?”

“No one you know.”

“What classes you take?”

“Eastern Lit. Creative writing. Eastern history.”

“What’s your major?”

“Eastern Cultures.”

“So, that’s like chinks and ragheads, right?”

“Countries not part of the western world.”

“So pretty much just the chinks and ragheads.”

“Sure.”

“Well, shit,” he continued, reverting back to the mocking tone, “since I really don’t wanna hear about what sandniggers call art and literature, what other shit do you know?”

“I know that racism isn’t funny.”

“Well that’s cool. Do you party?”

“No.”

“You guys don’t have like slope study groups where someone brings a keg of Slaki or whatever and everyone gets wasted?”

“No.”

“You ever fucked a slope?”

“No.”

“Tiny dicked bastards. Prolly have a helluva time finding the pussy, too, with those slanty little eyes. You’re lying there waiting and Chiminny Chong is on the other side of the bed fucking a hole in the mattress. That’s gotta be a turnoff.”

She turned her head. Her eyes viewed his relaxed figure with complete contempt. He continued to stare at the ceiling, apparently pondering his own words. She half opened her mouth, about to retort with something vicious, but caught herself. With a violent motion she turned her head away from him and fixed her attention back on the blank wall.

“Well, shit, now I’m talking too much. You’re supposed to be telling your story, right?”

She said nothing.

“No? You got nothing?”

Silence.

“Well OK then, I’m actually gonna try to take a nap here, then, so if you’d just keep being quiet I’d appreciate it.”

She didn’t reply. He rolled over on the bed, closing his eyes, and after a few minutes his breathing became slow and regular. She sat on cushion, unmoving, watching him for another minute or so. When it was clear he was asleep she got up slowly, and keeping her eyes on his still figure, walked to bathroom, entered, and closed the door. Undressing quickly, she turned on the shower and stepped under the hot stream of water. Her breathing had been fast and hard, now, as the steaming water washed over her body, she relaxed. Her shoulders fell slightly forward, her breathing slowed, and she closed hers eyes, slowly tilting her head back. For a long moment she stood frozen, taking several deep breaths, body almost completely relaxed. But something changed.

Her eyes twitched, slightly. Her lips parted. Her steady breathing broke suddenly, becoming shaky, uncontrolled. With a spasmodic motion she turned her head to the side, seemingly trying to avoid a blow, or maybe shake a thought. With a sudden movement she stepped back underneath the stream of water, leaning against and then slowly sliding down the wall. Head down, knees pulled up to chest, hands clenched into white fists, her body shook with silent sobs. Slowly she raised her head. The tears were impossible to locate among the drops of water that fell from her hair onto her face, but they were there. Staring upwards, her eyes were filled with sadness and hurt. But there was something more, something behind the pain. Her eyes were accusing. Her eyes were hateful.