On dark spring nights, the town of Bellmore becomes a trough, a feeding station for all things skuzzy. Innocent children turn into animals, and the sunny picturesque town howls at the full moon.
A gaggle of teens gathers near the soft underbelly of the train station, suckling at its filth. Smoke and smog are generated from the litter as the beast roars and rumbles above. The group consists of a variety of sows and boars engrossed in the warm welcome of a mating season, and lust hovers around the herd, leeching off young veins.
The girl resembles a freshly packed sausage, every roll of fat squeezed into one tight, practically see-through ensemble. The boys stare at her hungrily; all-too-ready to rip her open and devour whatever mystery meat is contained between the layers. Soaking in all the attention, she twists around various guys, dividing her bindings equally between them – it’s necessary to have a fair choice – as they stare and salivate at the offering before them.
She surveys the bunch with a steady gaze, sizing up chances, competition, and value. Only the prize pig is good enough for her valuable spices. She puts each through the grinder, in comparison to her precious flavors, not one can match her unique blend of oils, cheap seasoning, and plentiful blubber. No prime cut meets her ever-falling standards.
The swine wait in heat; skins bathed in bacon grease, whimpering and snuffling around for a look, a tug in another direction. Her eyes fall over the stable, and one by one the hogs are brought to an end. The murderous squeals intoxicate her, and their blood becomes hers.
All are slaughtered. They lay dead below her, in unbearable inferiority. Wrapped up into mangled packages, they’re made to seem whole, designed to entice, then devoured by the rising sun.