The Pig Story

Prose

The flower on his skin- the pig I mean- takes the stench away. His broken foot- takes away the stride. “I have a purpose”, he says.

I, stuck in a picture frame, ask silent questions.

The pig finds ways to take a look at me, before he folds in his position. “My purpose is to look at small things and tell you what they mean”.

Go ahead — I smile. He can obviously not hear me. I am in a frame, like I said before.

The pig is free, he can walk around — spread humanity. I mean the pig humanity. Not the human one. Anyhow, the pig had more to say -“ you know I don’t know what my exact purpose is, I know you know that, but I am the only pig with the weight of pink blossoms on it, I must have some profound wisdom to share, why else would they make me look like an animal but also paint flowers on me.”

I think, aren’t we all made that way — decorated animals — some pretty in a frame and others going about with broken limbs.

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