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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Fantasy · #1049818
What would happen if pigs really DID fly? (Hmm...I can't read my own work)
“John!” Sylvie pushed him away.


“No way, let me out now.” She opened the car door and stepped out in a huff. “I’ll make love to you the day pigs fly!” Sylvie whispered furiously before slamming the door. He watched her walk off into the cold night. It was cold, this Christmas Eve.

John grabbed the steering wheel, seething. He had wanted this to be the night, right after the party. All the other girls would, why not her?

“I’ll fuck that bitch, some way or another.”

He drove off. Pigs don’t fly.

* * *

“Why didn’t Santa come?” whispered a little girl. Her mother and father shared worried looks. There hadn’t been enough money for presents that year.


“I tried to be nice,” she continued, tears welling up in her eyes. “I did! And I didn’t want very much…I just wanted him to remember us this Christmas.”

“Sure, Santa Claus!” snorted her older brother. “I’m sure he’ll come in his big fat sleigh when pigs fly!”

“Mike!” snapped his mother. The father held him up, tight against the wall, his face close against Mikes.

“Don’t lie to your sister, you hear me?” he screamed, and dropped him to the floor. The boy ran off to his room.

“Mommy, if Mike is lying, then why didn’t Santa come?” The tears flowed freely down her dirty face, now, and down her old rags. “You’re the liars.” They tried to comfort her, but it wouldn’t work. “Pigs don’t fly,” Mary whispered.

* * *

Bobby sat in the prison cell, with its cold, hard walls, and the small, bare bed.

“What a way to spend Christmas,” he murmured, peering through the tiny glass window. Outside, cars were speeding past, lights were flashing, people were all busy celebrating. “I hate this crap.”

His inmate, Whitey, snored.

“Big fat dickhead.” He sighed. Tomorrow was his execution date. Something he was really looking forward to, especially since he didn’t even commit the crime he was convicted of.

“They all believe I murdered all those people, don’t they? Bobby Stevenson, serial killer.” He laughed, an unreal sound. His inmate, a gang leader, stirred and got up.

“You’re still here,” he growled.

“A merry Christmas to you, too.”

“Don’t get smart with me! Do you think you stand a chance of living?” Whitey’s laugh was fuller, heartier, filling the cell with its horrible sentiment. “You’ll go free the day pigs fly! And let me tell you a secret,” he continued, moving closer and closer. “They DON’T!’

* * *
Underground. The mines were dark and cold. The men worked on Christmas, lifting the picks and shovels, and bringing them down with a thud.

“I ain’t gonna be here much longer,” said Henry. “And when I get out, I’m gonna be an architect! I’m gonna build stuff, all over the world-”

“Hey, you’ve been watching It’s A Wonderful Life, haven’t you?” The men snickered.

“Yeah, you’ll do all that someday, Henry,” commented one. “When pigs fly!”

“But they don’t!” shouted the overseer. “So get back to work!”

* * *

Somewhere, somehow, something fat, dirty, and pink lifted all of its four stubby legs off the ground…Grunting, it moved higher and higher towards the bright blue sky…
Others saw. Soon, there were dozens of them, chubby and smelly, only then realizing their potential-

For flight.

“Hey, Betsy, look at this,” remarked the farmer casually. “Them pigs can fly.”

* * *

Ding-a-ling-a-ling! Ding-a-ling-a-ling!

“Someone pick up the phone!” screeched John’s mother.

“Whatever, I’m getting it,” he groaned, and reached for it. “Yeah?”

“Hey, is that John?” Sylvie’s voice was practically dripping with sugar.

“Sylvie?” He couldn’t believe it. “What the hell-”

“Wanna come over to my place tonight?”

“Sylvie, is this some kind of trick you’re playing on me? Last night you said-”

“I know what I said; it’s true!”

“What are you-”

“I want you, John. I thought you wanted to fuck me?”

He did. Pigs flew that night.

* * *

The jingling of a sleigh bell has to be the most beautiful sound in the world for children. As Mary stared out her bedroom window, she heard dozens of bells ringing for all the world to hear.

Wordlessly, she stepped outside, her little bare feet surrounded by the snow. There he was. Santa Claus.

“My dear, dear Mary! I’m so sorry I forgot you, my child. I guess we saved the best for last.” He smiled down at her, his whiskers moving as he talked. The reindeer danced behind him, eager to continue on. “Here.” He held out a bag, with exactly what Mary had asked for. “For you.”

Her eyes were shining with her wildest dream fulfilled.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I knew pigs flew!”

* * *

An the population of an entire town, all living inside a tower. It stretched skyward, seeming endless, an incredible monument of pink and brown, colors of pigs. Henry beamed into the reporters camera, his pet pig floating beside him.

“Say cheese, Albert,” he laughed. “Show them pigs do fly!”
© Copyright 2005 Elana Jefferson (bookworm64 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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