by T K Foster
On the opposite side of town, in the centre of an empty market square reserved for feasts and festivals, a small crowd was gathering. It was not an organised gathering, but one driven more so by curiosity and chance amusement. You see, aside from the warm and glorious first sun that beat down upon their brows, and the delicious smells of breakfasts that enriched the air surrounding them, a humorous little pig creature had been put on display for all to see in the Grand roasting pit dug out many days before by the town’s elders.
It was a commemorative pit, hollowed in anticipation of a battle yet to be fought and a victory yet to be won. Generations of townsfolk had carried the story, each passing it down the line, from father to son, mother to daughter, publican to patron, neighbour to neighbour, and from burro to burro; until in its present state, having been over many days misinterpreted, miss-communicated, and completely misunderstood, it had become nothing more than a charred hole in the ground, dug in remembrance of some old town squabble that hadn’t even occurred with an adversary that no one could even remember.
Now on this day though, a day that no spectator particularly deemed as grand, and therefore no expectations had been placed on such a tasty morsel being dangled before them all in the Grand roasting pit, there was indeed a plump pig-boy trussed to the spit by its hands and feet, hanging with its back to the hole, fast asleep with a rapple in its mouth. Beneath it in the pit was a mud soaked blanket and a leather satchel with the toe end of a boot poking out from under its flap.
Such was the sight that it provoked much laughter.
On the opposite side of the coin there were those select few who mumbled their disapproval at such a tasteless prank. In rebuttal, their views were jeered at by the majority who savoured the prank as being quite tasty indeed.
“Anyone for bacon?” someone cried out.
To which the laughter continued and those rigid do-gooders were simply pushed aside.
Soon though, and much to everybody’s disappointment, the pig-boy woke up and ruined all their fun.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN