It was beginning to feel a bit hopeless for Poppy. She wandered down the streets blankly, gazing at all the storefronts that had rejected her. Rough cobblestone streets underfoot, all of her hope from a few hours previous was quickly draining away

It was a quaint, rural town. ‘Weren’t these places supposed to have kindly old ladies who’d take in a young woman who needed a job?’ Poppy thought, grumbling. No one was hiring. And the cheap motel she was staying in was going to drain her meager savings quick. The eighty dollars a night wasn’t worth the rats, but there was nowhere else she could go.

She caught the eye of a man in the window of the small grocer’s store she was lurking outside of, one of the many people who turned her down. He grimaced at her, and she turned away, embarrassed. The motel didn’t have conditioner, but she didn’t think it had made her look that unpresentable…

Poppy dragged her feet through the last street of the commercial area, feeling the desperation build. She had no source of money. College had drained her savings, even as a dropout.  There was no one she could call for help, no relatives to turn to. The shame welled up again, and she picked up the pace. She had to find a job.

There was a small street she had not tried yet. She stepped into one of the larger buildings on the quiet road, and Poppy was struck with a wave of rancid air. Her paltry lunch of a sandwich bubbled up in her, threatening to come out. The shop felt… warm. Sticky, almost.

“Hello there, missy. Are you here to buy something?” A groaning voice said. The words felt odd, like they were sticking to the walls of his throat before floating in the air. 

With pursed lips, she held back a gag and looked up at the gargling voice’s owner. A sickeningly large man stood in front of her, stomach resting on the shiny countertop and hands deep in a greasy register. Poppy’s throat went dry as her eyes caught on the older man’s hands, pudgy and veiny. But worse was the long, curved blade clenched within his bulbous fists. A butcher’s knife, sharp and gleaming in the dim light.

She set her jaw straight, shoving her words past the tightening of her throat. “No, actually. I’m here to, um. I need a job.”

Her throat bobbed slightly as the man raised his eyebrows and grinned, showing off teeth as yellow as the grimey tiles below their feet. There was a bit of pink meat lodged between his front teeth. Looking around, she tried to get a grasp of what she had just signed up for, taking in the slabs of meat hanging from the ceiling and large freezers in the back. Sausage ropes strung across the windows like graying streamers, and whole legs of ham hung limply from the dim lights. A butcher’s shop.

“I don’t know about that one, girly. This is no place for a pretty young thing like you—”

“Please. I need a job.”

Her voice strained. Something unknown lit up in his eyes, and her breath caught, letting him look her over. The man leered at her, eyes sticking to her thin figure. She needed this job.

“Alright but it won’t be pretty, little missy. Don’t get squeamish.” He grumbled. 

Poppy glanced over to the table, decorated with a decapitated pig whose neck was oozing rusty blood. Her stomach lurched and gargled at the sight. Inhaling shakily, she pulled on some stained gloves and got to work.

-----

Poppy flinched as the butcher, who she now knew as Joe, laughed loudly at something their customer had said. She hated him, hated how his oily slick voice preyed upon her, how his gray whiskered cheeks went ruddy when he stared at her, how his swollen fingers caressed the pork bellies he sliced into with that disgusting knife.

But most of all, she hated how his eyes scraped over her body lecherously, like he was imagining her as one of his dead pigs. Like she was a piece of meat to be skinned and carved up into different cuts, dissected on a table.

The bell jingled as the customer walked out, leaving the two of them alone again. Joe’s face creased upwards with the success of another cheap sale. His sweaty hands found themselves on her hips as he moved past her, another indulgence, his rotten breath raising the hairs on the back of Poppy’s neck. She froze, eyes glazing over as he pressed his thumbs into her back.

He let go reluctantly, and she allowed herself to relax. Joe made her feel so small and insignificant, but there was nothing she could do about it. She didn’t know anyone else in the town, and the motel she stayed at only barely tolerated her. She just had to work here until she got back on her feet, Poppy reasoned. ‘This is only temporary, a necessary sacrifice,’ she thought as the sweltering heat stagnated and the blood coated her forearms. Meat scraps, porky and fatty and grisley, wedged themselves under her fingertips and when she couldn't scrape them out, they spoiled. ‘It’s temporary, it’s only temporary.’

A sound came from the backroom, and she started. Through the creaking back door came a rhythmic thumping of worn boots on the ground. She knew what that meant.

Mike was here.

Mike was Joe’s good friend, and possibly the only person in existence to be more disgusting than Joe himself. Similarly grotesque, his bloated fat deceptively covered large, tough muscles. He was the owner of Happy Hog Farm, Joe’s meat supplier. Mike raised the pigs, and Joe slaughtered them. And just like Joe, Mike had taken a peculiar interest in Poppy as well.

“‘Lo there, Poppy-flower.” She smiled weakly. “Joe, I got a big one out back for ya!”

The men laughed, and Joe trudged out back to grab the carcass. It smelled, the time it spent outside in the feverish heat making the freshly bleeding corpse begin to stink. She gagged quietly and turned back to her butchering. Whitish yellow blobs of fat clung to her hands, and in a strange fit of sheer disgust, she tried to cut her hands off with the sticky knife. The abandoned motion left her knife lodged in the cutting board and her hand trembling. The urge raged through her, anything to get the feeling of bloody intestines off of her body.

Mike’s voice snapped her out of the violent fever. “Joe, I need ya to pick out the next ones you want. I got plenty of little piggies out there that are about to reach their prime,” he rasped. Glee coated his words, and it made her spine crawl. ‘It’s temporary, it’s only temporary.’

“Mikey, why don’t you take the little missy with ya?” Her head snapped up to where Joe was giving her a contorted grin. “I’m sure she’s been ‘ere long enough to judge what some top-quality meat is.” 

Mike turned to her, brownish teeth pointed. 

“Come on then, girly. I’m taking you to see the boys.”

-----

The ride to the farm was tense , with Mike humming happily while Poppy was a statue in her seat. They arrived, and the pungent smell of grime rushed through her nose and filled her lungs. It was suffocating. Paradoxically, her stomach growled with hunger. Loud, grunting snorts and the sound of hairy snouts gobbling down slop disrupted the rank air. 

She shuddered. The hogs leered at her, bumping and groaning and showing off their long, gleaming tusks. The tough muscled meat that was so difficult to carve through, now she saw it in action. Blood pumping and meat flexing under thick hide, the beasts screamed danger. Their beady eyes bored into her, and Mike gave a quick chuckle.

“Hey there boys, look what I brought ya’!” The hogs snuffled and growled, fixated on her. Sweat beaded down her temple, salty and dripping. “Aww, look at ‘em. The boys just love ya’, flower!” Mike’s eyes glossed over like honey ham glaze,  but Poppy’s throat had closed up.

“Come on, baby. Pick one out, and I'll get him shot for ya real quick. Then you can work your magic with that knife,” he winked at her, and her stomach rolled.

Her trembling arm raised and pointed to one at random. It was near the front, hairy and squealing loudly. Mike laughed abruptly, too harsh for the stale air. He cuffed the pig and led it to the other room, gun in hand. It shrieked, and shrieked, and then the gun fired resolutely.

Poppy bent over the pig pen, vomiting up the meager contents of her stomach into one of the slop troughs. Chunks and stomach acid splashed against the sloppy gruel, making her gag and heave again. Spittle ran down her chin, dripping onto the mess.

When she finally looked up, Mike was standing in the door frame with the freshly limp hog in hand. His yellowed teeth were bared in a snarling grin, and when he spoke, she could see their greasy points. The carcass dropped at her feet.

“He’s all yours, darling.”

-----

“Sorry girl, but the shop just can’t afford to keep paying ya this much. You’ve known this.” Joe simpered down at her, and her vision went dizzy. She was barely affording food as it was, with all of her money going into keeping a room at the filthy motel. 

“But — how am I supposed to—” 

“Which is why,” Joe cut in, voice smarmy and slick, “I’m proposing a deal for ya. A little less pay, but you’ll get some of the meat you chop up. That’s free food for you right there.”

Her stomach growled, against her wishes. She was so hungry these days, and even the slimy meat had its appeal. Joe seemed to take this as some kind of confirmation, so despite her silence, he handed her a few crumpled bills and a slab of pork tenderloin. It smelled like fresh blood.

In a daze, Poppy walked back to her motel room, pockets empty but arms heavy with raw meat. It wasn’t enough that the very smell of the butcher’s shop followed her like a heavy shadow, she had to bring back the actual meat too. The motel owner glared at the sight of her, and other patrons gagged. She was used to their hostility, but shame still tingled her cheeks. Her payment was due soon. Maybe she could sell the meat to someone on the street? She couldn’t cook it as there was no stove or oven for her to use. 

Exhausted, she threw the hunk of flesh into her mini fridge and grabbed a bag of stale chips, barely satiating her writhing stomach. She laid there, curled up on an ever-damp bed in a moldy, rank motel room. It was all she had.

-----

The knife thudded against the table, dulled blade tearing the sinewy part of muscles from the flexing tendons. Joe took the cuts from her, and she started again. It was monotonous, but unlike every other day, Poppy was more afraid of what would happen when the work ended. The motel had drained her clean of cash, then left her, quite literally, on the streets. Her worldly possessions of raw meat and cheap snacks were thrown into a trash bag unceremoniously. Now the bag was dumped in an alleyway a few buildings down from the butcher’s, shadows hiding her shame. 

She had nowhere to sleep, no one to turn to. Joe leered and groped, Mike was worse. The few townspeople she spoke to looked at her with disgust, seeing her thin figure and ratty hair, smelling the spoiled blood that seeped into her pores. Only the rats paid her any attention, to her disgust. She hadn’t had to kill any of them yet, but she couldn’t imagine how bad they'd be once she no longer had the protection of walls around her. And the hoard of food wasn’t doing her any favors.

She didn’t know why she kept all the meat. Maybe she didn’t want to be wasteful, or maybe it was her mind’s response to her hours of painful labor. But now, her twisted sentimentality was coming back to haunt her.

The hours stretched by, a rubber band that was about to snap. The doorbell rang and rang. Joe grabbed and pinched, patting her cheek as he handed her spare change and yet another chunk of meaty flesh. Soon enough, she was staggering on the streets, making her way back to her new home behind a large, green dumpster. It smelled like rotten sulfur and human fluids, and if Poppy had eaten anything in the past day, it would have come right back up.

She crumpled to her feet, brain woozy. Grabbing a bag of chips, she choked down a few of the stale chips until her body wouldn’t let her swallow anymore.

Curling up against a dirty brick wall, Poppy shivered and shook. Being skin and bones didn’t keep her very warm. Muscles relaxing and eyes closing in relief, Poppy fell into a deep, nightmarish slumber.

-----

This was the end and she knew it. Joe had given up the pretense of paying her, just handing her the meat scraps and letting her hobble away. After a week of sleeping on the street, it was a miracle that she was even awake long enough to work during the day. No matter how tired she grew, sleepless nights tortured her. Her body felt seconds away from collapsing.

With the last of her money she had bought some more snacks, barely scraping together enough change. That should give her another week or so, Poppy thought blearily. But after that…

It didn’t matter. She was starving now, any longer without food and she would crumple to the ground.

The walk to her new home was torturous. Sunny roads gave way to damp alleys, the rancid smell filling her nostrils. The only thing on her mind was the food, finally some semi-fresh food to keep her alive. She needed it, she needed to eat so badly the wanting threatened to consume her.

Poppy turned the corner again, and there it was, her little spot with the food and the rats and the—

The rats.

There they were, scuttling about and squeaking with content. And right next to them lay the empty, chewed through wrappers of her only salvation.

Poppy fell to the ground. They had left nothing. She was going to starve. Her slim hopes curdled up, and her head was so dizzy. Black seeped in around the corners of her vision, eyelids fighting to stay open.

No. No, she couldn’t die like this. There had to be something she could eat, anything.

She had already picked the dumpster clean of food, every last chicken bone chewed up. Poppy grabbed and fumbled with a spare wrapper, licking it desperately for some leftover crumbs. All she got was dirt.

Desperately, she crawled around for any hint of edible food. Her fingers scrabbled at the ground, pulling up a few weeds and shoving them into her mouth. It wasn’t enough.

Her eyes slowly dragged to the large, lumpy trash bag. Her mouth watering, her hands and knees scraped against the ground as she crawled over to it. With trembling hands, her weak fingers tore through the squishy black plastic and a rancid burst of fumes came out. Rats squeaked around her, crawling over her legs and feet as she stared at the brownish-reddish chunks, flecked with green and black.

Poppy had never seen such a feast before. 

Her hands tore through the sticky, flabby meat and shoved it into her mouth, choking down the slimy and grisly bits and relishing in the soft centers of the browner meats. She buried her face into the bag of flesh and her teeth dug into the sweet, sweet salvation. Globs of fat and gristle and scraps ran down her chin as she swallowed down the festering goods. The greenish black bits were delicious seasonings.

Some of the rats joined her in her revelry, eating from her mouth. One nearly took a chunk out of her cheek, but Poppy didn’t care. Finally, her stomach would be sated.

Her eyes crossed and head went light with dizzying joy. She fell onto the bag of spoiled meat and passed out, stomach gurgling with delight. Just before her eyes shut, she felt one of the rats licking a piece of meat off of the lips of her open mouth. 

-----

When she finally woke up from her food coma, it was bright out. Squinting against the light, Poppy registered a faint feeling of panic at the thought of having missed the start of her shift. Her skin felt feverish. Dragging herself to her feet, Poppy looked around and felt the world spin around her. Little bugs were crawling all over her body, sticking to her no matter how she shook. 

She needed to get to work. Hopefully Joe wouldn’t be too upset at her.

Her stomach lurched and something warm and chunky rose in her throat and into her mouth. She gagged but swallowed it back down, it had been so long since she had eaten. She couldn’t throw her meal up now.

She fumbled down the street in a daze. Eventually, she found herself at the butcher’s shop, draping her body forward. On wobbly legs, she pushed through the door and nearly collapsed from the effort. Panting, she made eye contact with them.

There they stood, their hunking figures menacing in her spotty vision. Joe and Mike. They looked like mirror images, aprons bloody and teeth bared. Poppy tried to speak, but the chunky bile behind her lips stopped any words from coming out. Green fluid dribbled from her mouth, dripping down her chin.

They were looking at her, with such disgust that she could hardly breathe. Joe laughed, low and gritty between his lips, and the fear that washed over Poppy was unlike anything else. 

In that moment, she realized with the kind of certainty she hadn’t felt in months, that she should never have stepped foot in the butcher’s shop.

But it was too late. Mike moved so quickly she would not have been able to escape even in her prime, and grabbed her arm. It twisted back and Poppy howled in agony, the screams bringing up more vomit. She choked on it and tried to spit it out, but Mike just used his other meaty hand to cover her mouth. She retched and choked while he taunted her, twisting her arm further. Tears burst from her eyes. Violent pain seized through her, and then her vision finally faded out.

-----

Poppy awoke slowly, awareness seeping in like blood soaking a damp towel. Eyes glued shut, she groaned as a splitting headache and gurgling nausea set in. Her jaw felt like it was locked open. Her limbs twitched with pain. Peeling her eyes open, Poppy whimpered in horror. 

She was by the pig cage, sprawled on the hay floor in front of them. Only a flimsy chain barrier kept her from their snarling, salivating maws. Her torso was bared, exposing a ribcage that threatened to burst through her papery skin and her protruding stomach, bulging from her last meal. She tried to scream, but it was muffled by a smooth gag.  Dimly, she realized it was an apple, shiny and ruby red.

She tried to bite down on the apple to taste its sweet flesh, but her teeth were too weak. They wobbled in her mouth. 

Troughs of rotting slop were tipped over and oozing around her. A laugh, and the two men appeared above her, cooing at the snarling pigs. Even in her delirious state, Poppy could see the menacing looks in their eyes. Joe and Mike looked just as ravenous as the pigs.

“Well then,  don’t you look pretty, little Poppy-flower?” Mike threw his head back and cackled with glee. “Oh, the boys have been waiting a while to do this to ya, haven’t we?” 

Joe grimaced. “Ya were fun to watch, little missy. So eager, so meek, and so very hungry.” His speech was punctuated with Mike's howls of laughter. “But now you’ve broken, and broken toys are no fun anymore.”

The pigs growled and chomped at the air, writhing with excitement. Their tusks glistened with spittle. 

Mike stopped his attention to the pigs and fixated himself on Poppy’s thrashing body.  Tears flowed freely as she tried to scream around her gag. It was useless.

“You’re not the best food for my boys, I prefer to give ‘em the stuff that really fattens ‘em up. But they love you, flower. Love the smell of ya. After all, it’s their dead brother that's squirming in your stomach.”

On cue, the hogs began to scream and whine, chomping at the bit to get a piece of her. The men howled with laughter, dragging Poppy into the air like a ragdoll as she choked and screamed. Retching, her body bucked in the air, held tantalizingly close to the mouths of relentless pigs.

‘No, no, no, no, no,’ she tried to cry out, choking on her mucus and bile. The pigs jostled each other in excitement, baring their teeth. They snapped their jaws and slobbered at her.

She felt, with a sickening clarity, as Joe’s meaty fist released the back of her clothes and she fell into the pit of beasts.

They were going to devour her.

It’s funny, how even in the dim light, the hogs’ gleaming tusks looked remarkably like butchering knives.