The two pigs stood trembling before the band, Longpig and the Femcans, their snouts glistening with nervous sweat. The dimly lit room buzzed with excitement as the band members lounged on a crimson couch, watching the scene unfold. Tonight was special—one pig would earn the honor of becoming the dinner pig, a privilege reserved for only the finest. The other? He’d return to the pigpen, humiliated, to face his brothers with the shame of defeat.
“Let’s get this over with, piggies,” one of the Femcans purred, her voice dripping with amusement. “Rock, paper, scissors. Best of three. The winner gets the ultimate prize.”
The pigs exchanged anxious glances, their hooves trembling as they prepared for the game that would decide their fate. They raised their stubby hands, locked eyes, and chanted in unison, “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”
The first round was a draw—both threw rock. The room grew eerily silent, save for the distant hum of an amp warming up. On the second throw, one pig’s scissors sliced through the other’s paper. A small squeal of victory escaped the winning pig, but he stifled it quickly, sensing the weight of the final round. The loser glanced away, already dreading what seemed inevitable.
“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” they chanted again, their voices overlapping with tension. The victorious pig threw rock, crushing the loser’s scissors. The room erupted in cheers from the band and jeers from the audience of staff and other piggies watching from the sidelines.
The winner could hardly contain himself. He puffed out his chest, the adrenaline of triumph coursing through him. “I did it,” he muttered under his breath, his face lighting up with pride. The thought of being roasted and served to the band wasn’t a fear—it was an honor. He imagined the Femcans savoring every bite, their praise cementing his legacy as the perfect dinner pig. This was what every pig dreamed of, and now, it was his reality.
The loser, however, stood frozen, staring at his trembling hooves. His lip quivered as he struggled to process the crushing defeat. He’d been so close to glory, so close to being chosen. Instead, he would return to the pigpen empty-hooved, his dream dashed in front of the band he idolized.
As the winner was led away, glowing with pride, the loser trudged back to the pen. His brothers crowded around him, their hopeful expressions falling as he whispered, “I lost.” Silence spread through the group like a thick fog. A few patted him on the back, offering murmurs of consolation, but the weight of failure was suffocating.
Back in the main room, the winner basked in the Femcans’ approval, standing tall as they prepared him for his final moments. For him, this was the pinnacle of existence, the ultimate fulfillment of his purpose. For the loser, the night was a reminder of how cruel fate could be—a dream deferred, a chance lost, a life resigned to waiting for another opportunity that might never come.
