The Letter

By DX

Inspired by Dolcett and Pero Loco!  
In the future, human cattle, hucows, have become the norm.
A woman receives notice to report to the Butchery to be a hucow for slaughter, but she has a better plan!  Will she wind up on the menu?
Cannibal, Dolcett, hucow EXTREME!

Copyrighted 2/10/2002, 12/2023, all rights reserved.  

Christy looked up as the autonav of her hover-car beeped to announce she was home. She set aside her book and touched the acknowledge button and took hold of the yoke. Usually the autonav could park the car in the driveway, but Alexa had blocked the driveway last night with her car and still hadn't moved it. Christy sighed angrily as she squeezed her little one seater through the driveway and parked it on the charger.

"Didn't go to work today?" Christy asked testily as she stepped into the house.

Alexa was laid back on the sofa with a half package of cookie dough in her lap and watching the tri-vid. She didn't look up. "I got up late so I called in sick."

Christy shook her head as she maneuvered around the cluttered room and sat down at the data terminal. "Alexa, if you lose this job you're gonna be meat." She said logging on.

Alexa snorted. "Hardly." She changed channels.

Christy downloaded the news and e-mail. "Yeah, and you still owe me rent. Any chance of that?"

Alexa made a face. "Soon as I get my workman's comp settlement."

Christy rubbed her temples tiredly. "You threw yourself down a flight of stairs in front of witnesses. They're not going to pay." The data term beeped and Christy scrolled through the mail, her face aglow with cathode light. "You got mail."

Alexa pointed the remote and changed channels. "What is it?"

"Don't know. It’s from the State. I can't open it."

Alexa sprang off the couch and the cookie dough rolled to the floor. "That's my settlement!” She pushed her way to the key board. "Move."

"Hey, I'm sitting here." Christy complained.

"You're the one bitching about the rent." Alexa reached over Christy's shoulder and typed in her el-sig then put her thumb on the reader for her print scan.

"Just print it out and go away."

Alexa snatched the static sheet from the printer. "Be nice to me, I'm gonna be rich." She headed back to the couch.

Christy shook her head. "Sign over your half of the lease and you can keep the three months rent you owe me.  How’s that for a deal?” Christy continued to sort through her mail. "Well, are you gonna keep me in suspense? Are they gonna pay out for your obviously false claim, or arrest you for fraud?” Christy turned around and looked at Alexa. "Well?"

Alexa was sitting up, the letter hanging loosely from her fingers. Her face was blank and her jaw slack. 

Christy cocked her head. “So, I guess I'm not getting any rent money."

Alexa looked up, her blue eyes wide and quickly filling with tears. "It's the letter." She said with a whisper.

Christy turned back to the data term. "Took a trip down the stairs for nothing, huh?" She logged off the term. "I told you they wouldn't pay."

Alexa pleaded, her voice like a little girl. "It's the letter." She repeated. "I have to report to the Butchery." A tear trickled down her cheek. "To be slaughtered."

Christy leaned back in the chair. "When?"

"Wednesday." She said, whipping away her tear.

Christy nodded, thinking. "I can call the lawyer and you can sign over the lease on Monday."

Alexa's eyes grew round as plates. "How can you talk about the stupid house? I'm going to be carved up into steaks!"

Christy scoffed. "Burger is more like it."

Alexa threw her hands up and leapt off the couch. "How can you joke at a time like this?" She waved the letter at Christy. "It's the letter!"

Christy rolled her eyes. "What are you getting so mad at? You've been on the list ever since you flunked high-school. Why are you surprised?"

Alexa stood in the middle of the room with the letter crumpled in her hand. "I thought I made it." She said quietly. "I'm twenty one. I'm too old."

“You're not twenty-one for another month."

"It doesn't matter!" She turned, her hackles raising. “It's close enough! It isn't fair!"

"Don't yell at me." Christy matched her anger. "You've always known that if you fail the final exams you can get sent to the Butchery. And with your work record, I'm surprised they didn't call you sooner." Christy stood up and headed to the kitchen. "So what? You're meat? Thousands of people a day get butchered. Why are you so special?"

Alexa watched as Christy took a Meal Pack from the fridge and dropped it in the steamer to cook. Her mind flashed back with the image of her first day of senior year. All the students of adult age were given the tour of the Butchery, to inspire them to study hard and get good grades. They all stood trembling and watched from the darkened catwalk as the cattle, hucows, human cows for slaughter, were lead into the room.  They were naked, their heads already shaved. Their grade, fresh and angry branded on one hip. They wore heavy obedience collars about their necks. They didn't fight. They didn't talk. They knew better. They sobbed and shivered in the cold air and clung to each other for warmth and support. There, they waited.

Alexa remembered the greasy feel to the floor. She stood beside Christy, hugging herself in the gloomy shadow of the catwalk. The air was filled with a nauseating, unplaceable stench. All the witnesses fought from retching and gagging. The teacher had everyone take a pill to keep them from vomiting. 

It wasn't working.

Below, an attendant with a Hypogun walked up the line of cattle and pressed the tip to the meaty part of the shoulder of each hucow. With a quick hiss, each one was given a stimulant to help keep them alive and breathing during the entire process. It was marketing ploy; to guarantee freshness, the hucows had to be alive and well for most of the process. If they were conscious, it meant they were alive and well and very fresh. They implied it improved the taste. People swore by it, even though there was no proof, and paid big bucks for a live slaughtered hucow.

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Copyrighted 12/2023, all rights reserved
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Long Pig Café (teaser)

By DX

 

DX’s tribute to Dolcett!  The Jessica 3000!  In a world where Long Pig is the height of fashion, a young executive tells of her first time down at the meat market!

 

 

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Copyrighted 01/05/03  4/2023 All rights reserved.

 

 

I was nervous the first time I went down to the meat market. I never thought I would have to do it… to choose between the gathered long pigs and pick one out like a lobster from a tank, but the new job came with its perks.  As the new woman on the block, I got to host the monthly gaiety, a broiling shark pit of networking and hobnobbing, pinnacled by a live roast. A succulent long pig, served in all its splendor; golden brown, and rivulets of juices and steam springing from cracks in the crispy skin. 

 

Delicious.

 

So my first real assignment as the Chief Senior Executive Assistant to the Vice Deputy Under Secretary, was to take the company credit voucher, pick up a long pig, and serve it piping hot to all the big wigs and not fuck it up.

 

No pressure.

 

I brought Alice with me. Although she's a pain in the ass, she's hosted several of her own long pig parties and was more than happy to help me look for a good pig. I mean after all, how do you look at someone and know they'll be tasty? 

 

We headed down to the Eastside and the Neo-clubs.  The streets were filled with brilliant, myopic colors of neon, and bass pounding in your chest from blocks away. They used to be slaughterhouses back in the day, before the eco-terrorists and radical animal rights activists, before the topsoil blew away, before the tailored viruses, back when meat came from animals. 

 

"Don't look eager." She coached as we pulled up in the taxi.  "Don't be afraid to say no, they're meat, who gives a shit about their feelings?"  She picked a dark watering hole. The tourists went to the flashy, the rejects went to skanky, and the in the know went here. 

 

The Long Pig Café was sprawled in distinct, yet understated neon script.  "Don't pick up any tab older than a month.  She's a Skipper." Alice tipped the bouncer for a good table in the back with the rest of the predators, but with a good view.  "And why did you wear that?  Could you find anything more garish?  You'll pick up a Skipper for sure."

 

Long Pigs have to be ready to go at a moments notice.  Since the abolishment of welfare, everyone, even Long Pigs, had to support themselves; but because a Long Pig could be picked up to be lunch meat at anytime the Predator had to pick up the tab.  Last month's rent, phone, cable, sundry bills and costs, sometimes a dowry.  A Skipper lines up with the Long Pigs and when you pick one up and pay her tab, she skips out on you, runs up another tab and does it again. They eventually get caught, but you'll never see your money and her meat is given away by lottery. 

 

"Watch out for the Wasters." Alice pointed out a girl by the bar.  "See that hair doo?  If you planned to be meat in a couple days would you spend that much on beauty salon treatment?"  Wasters chickened out at the last minute.  They'd get their neck in the yoke and declare they couldn't go through with it, re-imburse the tab and go on with their lives.  Some got off on it.  It was a kick.  A Fetish.  Problem was you'd be left sucking up for all the time wasted, ruined plans and your guests go home hungry because your main course just changed her mind.  Major social calamity.

 

Too skinny, too fatty, too ugly, too stringy, too old, too young, too much make up.

 

I bet you thought this would be easy.

 

The Long Pigs, male, female, unassigned, wore gossamer togas and wandered around from table to table showing off their wares.  Alice waved them along.  "Don't expect to find anything on your first time out."  She assured me.  "You have to be patient. Remember you want something good for the party."

 

I watched a sweet young thing sipping a soda at the bar.  Alice shook her head.  "She's showing.  You don't want to deal with a preger on your first time."  She checked her watch.  "I say we call it a night."

 

As I looked for a waiter, I watched a girl enter the din of the bar.  Her sexy, squinty eyes propped on her cob apple checks scanned the room.  Her long lashes flashed over her star filled eyes as they adjusted to the dim.  Her sweet succulent lips were almost a permanent pucker, her tiny, almost non-existent pug nose crinkled as she smiled.  I could see her eyes sparkle from across the room as our gazes met.

 

Her toga draped across her massive breasts and clung to her curvy hip. I watched as she got a meat tag from the registrar and stick it to her butt. It flashed the moment it touched indicating that she was already getting offers. 

 

Alice finally noticed what I was looking at.  "Forget it."  She dismissed her with a shake of her head.  "She is far too cute.  With that face and body she'd make a mint as a Temple Priestess.  She doesn't want to be meat.  She just wants a kinky time.  She's a Waster for sure."

 

I was riveted as she slowly made her way over to our table, ignoring her flashing meat tag.  She slowly turned with professional poise.  She was lean, yet curvy.  Baby fat cheeks, yet a hint of underlying muscle.  Adorable dimples, top and bottom.

 

Alice leaned across the table, shooing her away.  "We're not looking, sweetheart.  Thank you." 

 

Her eyes, flicking mica watched me.  Her sweet lips turned in a Mona Lisa smile.  She looked as hungry for me as I was for her.

 

"What's your name?" I asked.

 

Alice spoke up quickly.  "We don't want to know, we're not interested."  She dismissed her with a wave.  "Good day."

 

Her dimples deepened as her eyes flashed their smiles.  She only raised her chin slightly. 

 

I wondered what she was doing when I noticed a small dark dot in the center of her throat.  I peered at it.

 

"It's a trachea shunt."  Alice explained.  "Used in live spits.  It allows her to breathe with a spit running out of her mouth.  It also makes in very tough to talk."  She looked at the girl.  "You're being a little pretentious.  What makes you think your good for roast?  I'm thinking hotdog and burger meat at best."  She said with a snub.

 

The girl's glow never faltered as she hiked up her toga and showed her brand burned into her hip.  She was certified prime.

 

I could feel Alice's hackles bristle.  "Oh come now."  She tisked.  "We're not bumpkins.  You run along before we call the cops."  Alice leaned towards me.  "She's a professional Skipper.  I bet she's wanted in twelve states."

 

She pulled off her tag and slid it on the table.

 

Alice froze.  The tag had been DNA coded when she registered at the bar, a perfect ID.  If she was wanted it would show.  The gamble was that in the Predator's exuberance, they wouldn't check the tag.  Alice tightened her lips and took up the tag and slipped it into the reader. 

 

Her file scrolled up.  It was a hefty tab, almost two months, but clean without warrants.  As I looked it over, offers from around the room were coming in and pushing up her dowry.  If she wanted, she could take back her tag and walk over to the highest bidder and leave her next of kin a good chunk of change.  She didn't move.

 

Alice shook her head and pulled the tag.  "Your tab is too high."  She dismissed.

 

I took the tag from Alice's outreached hand and put it back in the reader. 

 

I clicked on buy.

 

Alice threw up her hands.  "Why am I here?  You're not listening to a word I'm saying.  Just because the cops haven't caught on to her yet does not mean she isn't a Skipper or a Waster."  She shook her head.  "Well, at least cuff her."

 

The girl turned and put her hands behind her.  She looked back at me, smiled, and waited.  I took out the cuffs from my purse.  

 

Butcher's cuffs are high quality Chromoli Ceramic alloy; unbreakable and non-heat conductive.  Twin bands 5 cm wide held apart by a ridged 15cm bar.  They come without keys and once double locked, they cannot be removed except by cutting off her hands.  They were rare to see on the street.  Expensive toys on loan from the corporation. 

 

I felt my heart pounding as I held them up.  She looked at them and knew what they were.  I suddenly thought she was going to bolt.  Even if she was a Waster, once the cuffs were on, they would be on her for the rest of her life.

 

Her smile never faltered.  She turned her head slowly and faced away, her hands still behind her back. 

 

I glanced around.  Every eye in the club, predator and meat alike, were watching.  My hands were shaking badly as I slipped the cuff over her hand.  I fumbled and nearly dropped them, but she caught them, and calmly snapped one over her wrist.  She slipped her free wrist in the other cuff and waited, unable to do it herself.

 

With sweaty palms and my heart pounding, I locked the second cuff on her wrist.  Her body stiffened and shuddered.  She looked back, her smile, her sweet, kissable smile, congratulated me.

 

I think the rest of the club cheered and applauded, but I’m not sure.  I could hear nothing save the tremendous roar of my heart.