Fiction: SF Disturbing Story
The Whole Hog
Is it true that you are what you eat?
Mornings are for decadence and murder, I thought as I tucked my shirt into my trousers.
A few minutes later, I was in my kitchen, tucking into my salty bacon breakfast with relish. The meat was cooked to perfection, with a crispy exterior and a tender, juicy interior.
In spite of my loss of sleep, I felt increasingly better with each delicious bite as the sense of physical well-being spread through my being.
I had a feeling that my existential crisis may have passed. I was in touch with the fundamental forces of life and had discovered contentment. The mere fact that I had been able to sleep at all had been enough to dispel the lingering fog of doubt and uncertainty that had settled over me in my unceasing quest for meaning.
I ate another strip of bacon and a handful of buttery soft potatoes and let out a long and almost obscene moan of pleasure. Fortunately, I was alone and could moan and eat as much as I wanted to.
Buttercup had been a good pig, a great friend, and a terrific conversationalist. She’d take the greatest delight in the simple things in life, such as strolling through the top meadow, the one with the panoramic vista, or lying on her side…
