殺猪

A pig grown plump and obese, with grease dripping profusely from its body, appears incredibly enticing to the wolves. Could these pigs ever comprehend that piecemeal words such as justice, equality, peace, and harmony actually spring from overwhelming weaponry? Hastening the day of their own slaughter, they hold demonstrations day after day, raising a toast in the hope that their indolent festival will last forever. Yes, you are already dead souls. The moment has arrived for you to be struck once more by the painful rod of the master. Having poured out the cup of blood for centuries to enjoy this era of peace and prosperity, the time to pay the price has finally dawned. The final day of the pig will be tragic to them, but to those who died at their hands, it becomes the sound that heralds the prelude of a celebratory toast. How ironic it is that the sound of bombers flying overhead and dropping payloads should signal the commencement of a festival—to those who supposedly cherish freedom, equality, and justice.

How much time is there left? By building an ark, could one salvage even a few souls from the great cataclysm? Would facing the reality that there was absolutely no hope in this place change anything? For it was said that even at the absolute end of times, humans would marry, hold festivals, and dream of tomorrow. They mistake the darkness of the shadow that has approached right before their eyes for the mere reflection of a passing storm cloud. If they were to look at the sky, they would see that it is not a storm cloud, but a grotesque omen of destruction; yet, having never learned how to raise their heads, they simply live with their heads bowed low. Because they were conditioned to succumb to authority, they have entirely lost the ability to lift their eyes and gaze toward that high place.

Their eyes merely trace the ends of the earth. The obvious routine starting anew every single day. The immediate anxieties right before them. The immediate desires right before them. The immediate pleasures right before them. Like Hansel and Gretel, they pick up and devour the candies and cookies dropped before their eyes, walking straight into the witch's house. Even as the witch opens her maw to extinguish their breath, they fail to realize it; to them, only the cookie immediately in front of their vision is visible, rather than the razor-sharp teeth looming right behind it.

Casting aside the cookie before my eyes, I slowly observe the visage of the people. An endless line is looking solely at the crumbs of cookies strewn across the ground. For the sake of those crumbs, they make a frantic uproar, declaring they would do anything, and lock themselves in mutual combat. If it appears that another has consumed even a fraction more, they throw a punch to shatter their teeth. If it is an opponent they cannot best, they gather allies through slander. To the shriveled and thin, they say, "You are thin, so you can afford to eat less," and to the obese, they say, "You are obese, so you must eat less," busying themselves only with searching for their own cookie. What is the use of screaming that the witch is swallowing a person whole right in front of them? They have already evolved merely to consume crumbs. They have lost the capacity to view the sky. They have lost the capacity to hear the sound. They are merely frantic to lick the ground with their tongues and devour the crumbs.

A pig cannot look at the sky by its own strength. Even if a beast of prey flies down from the heavens and tears away its flesh, the pig has no way of knowing. Thus, if it is torn, it merely feels the pain as it is, and while enduring that pain, it simply begs for food in order to survive. Even if one lives in that manner, the end remains identical. Without breaking free from the state of being a pig, one cannot confront the threats of the heavens, nor can one prepare against them. One must cease eating the crumbs and seek out the food that allows them to return to being human. Heading toward a path distinct from the rest, moving in the exact opposite direction even while hearing the squealing, grotesque shrieks of the countless herd of pigs—from that moment onward, the human-like life begins.

This game will end only when the beasts of prey flying in the heavens are slaughtered. This game will end only when the witches who scatter even more feed are put to death. Yet, it is difficult for that game to conclude. The host of pigs is innumerable, and because they possess no hesitation in choosing the life of a slave for the sake of feed, an opposing force capable of confronting them cannot be forged. What is right no longer carries any meaning, either. Does one choose to live as a villain and engage in a battle to prevent total annihilation? Or is it total annihilation achieved through peace and compromise? Rather than suffering total annihilation, it would be a shame to depart from this world without severing the head at the absolute apex. The one who wishes to slaughter the pigs, and the one who wishes to slaughter the one trying to kill the pigs—destiny, in a truly twisted turn, has chosen the smallest and most insignificant human.