The Need Within

         A few drops of red sloshed onto the fallen leaves as Johnny set down the bucket, tugged the hat lower on his ears and wiggled his fingers in an effort to thwart off the numbness starting to creep in around his nail beds. With a renewed grip, he picked up the pace and callously transferred the pressure between his fingertips, pointer to pinky and then back down again. The gravel path wound around the side of the barn and stopped just short of a wooden fence, the bottom of which was veiled in a fog created by an edacious drove of snouts scuffing the ground. Their low, guttural calls ushered in the morning and the man dropped the bucket and slung the spear over his shoulder, mentally grouping them by color: six pink, four black and two spotted. There were all there.
         Shadows of the trees lowered slowly down the side of the barn and in another few minutes the line would reach the top of the iron star, then it would be time. The surface of the building had transformed into a forgotten myriad of faded earth tones with only dull red streaks to break up the bleakness. Chips of rotten wood fell to the ground as Johnny wedged one foot into a fencepost joint, hooked his thumbs in his pockets and watched the scavenging pigs.
         The color didn’t matter as much as the size. The last three had been small, Johnny found himself craving the chase more and more. The anticipation, the release, the run, feverish compulsion, skillful tracking, calculated slaughter. The small ones always put up a fight and he would inevitably spend more time hunting than enjoying the kill. The biggest ones, now those were a treat, lazy, trusting, and deliciously gluttonous.
         Johnny scanned the waves of blubbery backs needing something to indulge in, something to savor. He found the longest one lingering at the rear, nuzzling the clay at the foundation of the barn, its smooth, pink flesh covered with packed slate mud. Nostrils flared as the long snout rammed into the clay, claiming and devouring fragments of grass. The young man’s pulse quickened as his eyes followed the curve of its spine. He had been watching it over the past year, time and time again choosing a different swine to allow this one to feed and grow. Midway through the summer it was the strongest of the group, charging over the others, thrashing them into fence posts and shrieking with domination as it staked its claim. That pig deserved to eat first and it ate with complete disregard for the others. By fall, the boar’s weight overcame its agility, slipping to the back of the horde but still managing to muscle its way through the others to eat. Johnny was amused to see such a fierce creature loose itself in gluttony; the animal’s hunger was unrelenting.
         He glanced up and saw the sun glinting on the top point of the iron star. A rush of blood quickened the young man’s heartbeat and brought renewed warmth to his hands. Johnny unhooked his thumbs, pulled an MP3 player from his pocket and selected a track of music. His ears were filled with the sound of a single piano key being struck repeatedly and as a dark, looming wave swept over the instrument, he closed his eyes in surrender to the methodical tempo. He took two steps back from the fence and dropped the spear.
         Johnny repeated the four-count, tapping his fingers in the air and breathing in time with the resonating pulse until the wave became a powerful, throbbing beat. He entered the pen and waded through the crowd of pigs, a chill hitting the small of his back as he withdrew a rope from his waistband. With the skill of a sailor, Johnny tied a slipknot on one end and with a square knot, attached the other to a fencepost near the gate. The man moved in on the largest pig, which trudged away and backed itself up against the opening of the pen, right into position. A pile of shit splattered beneath his feet as Johnny hopped the fence, unlatched the gate and let it swing open. He counted in time, tapping his finger in the air as the four notes repeated themselves and then pulled from his pocket the ear of a buck.
         Sweet, trusting swine, he thought. Johnny relished in the moment of giving the animal what it desired most and watching it surrender all apprehension. Its guttural sounds gave way to loud squealing and with one strong lunge the pig snatched the treat, smacking and chomping the triangle, a listless worm of muscle tissue dangling from its jaw, completely ignorant to the noose now around its neck and the slam of the gate. Johnny moved away, reclaimed the bucket, leaned over the fence and dumped half of it into the trough. Movement exploded in the warm, round bodies, the chunks of raw deer meat inciting waves of panic. The pigs trampled in frantic circles and their snouts smashed together as they scoured the ditch for food, ripping and flinging animal flesh on each other, the pen and the rope, at the end of which was the most ravenous beast of them all.
         On the other side of the fence, Johnny held the half empty bucket in front of it and backed up towards the wood line. The fat animal followed him with aberrant vigor, chomping on a piece of hide stuck to the roof of its mouth, and then gagged when the leash pulled taught. Hunks of red meat and sopping butchery hit the dead leaves just out of its reach and Johnny made out a high pitched shriek above the throbbing base in his ears. Tossing the bucket aside, he turned up the volume and stood back to watch the erratic symphony unfold. The knot tightened around the beast’s neck as the animal lunged towards the flesh with ferocity, its hooves frantically ripping through the dirt and its wild eyes turning black with need.
         The melody gave way to a deep pounding signaling that the breath would be soon gone. Johnny took off his jacket and threw it on the ground next to the bucket. The fog around his mouth had disappeared and he felt warm from both the sunlight on his chest and the climax of a chore becoming a pleasure. He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and watched the thrashing slow and the pig sink to its knees, it’s soft, pink skin now a hardened mess of clay. The beat in Johnny’s ears became the original piano keystrokes, which slowly faded, faded, into nothing. The barn’s shadow swept over the beast as it lay resting on the ground, its snout extended towards a bloody purple liver. Johnny absorbed the warming of the air, the stillness of the pen, and the tranquility of the animal in front of him. When the player clicked to the next track, he walked back to the fence.
         A similar yet faster beat filled his ears as he untied the rope and moved back towards the animal. It pulled against the restraints and Johnny returned the effort with a hard pull against its noose before retying the end around its legs. Johnny picked up the spear, positioned himself behind its head and plunged it into the skin at the base of its neck. The pig thrashed once, cried out a low, guttural squeal and then lay limp. As its final breaths escaped, Johnny tightened his grip and gave the blade a final twist. He leaned close to its face and watched the black eyes deepen, the chest still and the tongue fall limply in the dirt. Johnny exhaled the breath he was unconsciously holding, closed his eyes and felt a surge of fulfillment course through his body.
         The kill was enough to get him through another week at the most. Nearly six months had passed since the last Angel and the need was growing again. He could see her sweet face relaxing in the dirt, the smooth shape of her mouth falling open and the light in her rich brown eyes fading away as she returned home. If Wyatt came back empty handed again, things would have to change.