Unseen hands grabbed my foot a few meters from the precipice and saved me from plunging to uncertainty. Tears of gratitude stung my eyes as I scrambled from the ground.
Before my eyes, at the edge of that field, a barrel shaped creature stared at me with rheumy eyes. Fat and greasy with wings like a bat, I was astonished at this strange pig. It plowed its snout between the ridges, noisily and purposefully no longer mindful of my presence. Over bloated like a drowned corpse, the pig must have weighed at least 150 kilograms. Grunting, coughing and crying, it labored on.
Foulness like a wet blanket threatened to choke the last molecule of oxygen from my lungs, I covered my nose and stepped back. The pig raised it snout and a nail popped up and fell down the abyss, moments later I heard a dull clink and my heart turned cold. The ground had opened like a page. Burrowing its snout beneath the opening, the pig was stuck between the roofing sheets directly above my bed.
The night got darker as the moon and stars became gradually hidden by some animated black blotches. Then with a clatter like sudden rainfall, huge black crows, white-chested like a conference of barristers landed one after the other on the roof. The pig smelled but the crows stank, their stench was over powering, it reminded me of a rubber plantation.
The pig became frantic as it tried to free itself from the jaws of my roof, its wings beat at the roofing sheets in futility as the crows approached. A heart stopping “huuuuuuuuuhhhhhhnnnnnnnn” from the throat of the pig pierced the silence of the night as the crows started eating it alive.
Desperately the pig flapped its wings knocking a few crows senseless, they soon got up and joined the buffet. For every crow that caught a blow, twenty more took its place. Soon blood and gore was sprayed all over the roof. The pig must have been pregnant with seeds because hairy yellow spores now floated in the air like bubbles. My knees buckled at the stench that assaulted my olfactory nerves. My lungs shrunk, my heart ached, my ear drums hurt and my head pounded, yet even with my head bowed, my vision of the noxious feast remained unimpaired.
Quietly, a hundred beaks pecked, daintily a million spores flew. In their frenzy, the crows failed to notice that some of their comrades were thrashing in epileptic fits on the roof top. Some would fly away in dizzying patterns before returning to feed on the living corpse. Speckled with yellow and red, the crows now resembled a group of clueless amateur house painters.
The muteness of the crows was enhanced by the futile struggle of a pig in a curtain of yellow spores. My eyes could no longer track the flight pattern of the speckled birds, the more speckled, the more erratic the behavior. Some would now fly away and never return, returnees dropped dead as soon as they came in contact with the yellow curtain. Dead crows were piling up around the loose part of the roof. The pig was no closer to death than when I first encountered it.
Behind the yellow curtain, a half-eaten swine, spine exposed, entrails trailing, ribs like a basket, a winged pig was becoming more confident than a crowd of crows. Tangled in the roofing sheets, attached to metallic shoulder-blades, blows from the pig’s wings was now authoritative. Crows were dying in numbers. For the first time since they arrived, the crows circled hesitantly overhead before diving in to die. A reinforcement of ‘barristers’ soon arrived and swarmed the scene.
As the weight on the roof increased, the pressure on the bed seemed to reduce. Finally my eyes flew open as the ceiling cracked and the roof caved in.
(To be continued)