The room was thick with anticipation. Rows of men, each wearing nothing but a crude number tied around their necks, shuffled anxiously. The lottery had become a tradition—a spectacle where fate decided who would ascend to the fire. Some wore their numbers with pride, their eyes gleaming with the perverse glory of being chosen. Others trembled, their resolve shaken. He was somewhere in between.
When he first donned the collar, he’d been filled with excitement. The thought of being the centerpiece, the one roasted alive for the crowd, had ignited a strange thrill deep within him. He told himself it was an honor—a purpose, a destiny to fulfill. But as the ceremony began, that thrill gave way to a suffocating dread.
The announcer stood tall, holding the bowl of numbers high. The room fell silent as the first was drawn. He watched as the piggyman beside him wept with relief when his number wasn’t called. Then came the second number. Not him again. His heart raced, pounding so hard it hurt.
The third number.
“Thirty-seven.”
His number.
A murmur rippled through the room, followed by the clapping of those who weren’t selected. They were safe for another day. He tried to stand tall, to let the honor of the moment carry him. But the weight of reality crushed him instead.
As the attendants approached, his resolve crumbled.
“Wait,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “I—I’ve changed my mind. I’m not ready!”
They didn’t stop. Strong hands gripped his arms, leading him to the stage. The crowd cheered, their voices drowning out his protests.“Please! Someone else can take my place! I can—” He stopped himself, ashamed of the cowardice spilling from his lips.
But wasn’t it natural to want to live?
The scent of smoke and spices filled the air as the spit was prepared. He struggled against his captors, his mind racing. Memories of sunlight, laughter, and simple pleasures flashed before his eyes. He didn’t want this. Not now. Not anymore.
“Please,” he begged, tears streaming down his face. “Don’t do this. I—I’ll be a better pig. Just let me live!”
The announcer approached, their voice cold but kind. “Fate has chosen you. This is your moment. Accept it with grace.”
“No,” he whispered. “Please.”
But there was no escape. The crowd roared as he was bound, the spit sliding into place. Pain exploded through his body as the fire roared to life beneath him. His cries mingled with the cheers, the sound of his flesh sizzling the final punctuation to his fate.
In his last moments, he thought about how he had wanted this once. The honor, the attention, the purpose. But now, all he wanted was one more chance to live.
Fate, however, was not kind to pigs.
