Sincerely, Jennifer x

Oh, this is going to be a good day. 

Such a wonderful day. 

There is such a delicious cake for us to enjoy. 

I have balloons. So many balloons. Pink and blue. My favourite colours, filled with the breath from my body and flying all around their pen. 

My little piggies are awake, shuffling and sniffing around the floor. They’re on their knees, shaking and shivering, and I am so entertained. 

It’s going to be a fantastic day. I can feel it in my feverish fingertips. The piggies are pacing, purging their rage onto one another. Questions flutter furiously around the room, like fruit flies, landing on their silly little heads as they ponder, and wonder how they arrived in my abattoir. 

They see the hooks upon the walls, knives all asunder on the cold concrete ground, and blood, so much beautiful blood, painted all over the room. 

They know what they will become, if they are honest, but it hurts to be honest, and so they pretend. They ask questions. They scream and shout at each other. They cry, long, laboured sobs that make their chests shudder, and I watch from my window, thoroughly entertained. 

Their skin will be sliced, sooner or later, and it shall sizzle on my grill before it becomes a prisoner of my stomach. Only one will survive. I have gifted them this mercy. One will live, and will become my chef. They will slice their fellow piggies, sizzle them until they are a delicious sensation, and then they will find me more piggies to play with. 

Last week’s star piggie is in a terrible mood. I watch him pound his little piggy fists against the walls in a temper. He has a storm within him, as he thought that his work as my chef meant that he would go free. 

Sometimes, that is the deal, but today, there will be no deals. It is my birthday, and I must have everything that I desire. He’s a selfish little piggy. Five foot four, so skinny, so scowly, a thoroughly silly, selfish little man. 

He should be pleased to spend my birthday with me. There is cake. I have given my piggies cake, on my special day, and still, he howls like he is already dead. He doesn’t even want to live. 

Such a silly, selfish little man. He will not find enjoyment in the joy I rained upon him and my other pets. 

I wanted their last days to be happy ones. I wanted them to share my special day with me. 

Why can’t they smile? 

There are balloons! 

It is a joyous day, and there is nothing to cry about, but good Lord, that is all that they do. 

I don’t know why they can’t be grateful for the honour. Any one of today’s pets could be this week’s star piggie! It’s exciting! 

Little Theodore is showing some gusto. I’m very proud of him. He’s gone from bawling to breaking his nose against the wall, begging and barking orders at the others. Oh, he’s such an angry little man. Such a whirlwind of emotions. Easy to see how he could lose control. Such a nasty business, but never mind all that. He’s got the stuff. He’s got the right idea. He could be this week’s star piggie. 

Then again, it could be little Sydney. Now, she’s got the stuff, I think. Used to be a nurse, before she became mine. She fixed up Theodore’s nose right quick, and I have to say, I was impressed. She gives the game longevity. I like that. Likes to fix things when they’re broken. Caring, like an angel. Nobody would ever know. Nobody will ever know. Oh, I shouldn’t besmirch her. She’s such a sweetheart, to those who will remember. Such a darling. Such an angel. 

Oh, but there is always Clive. As angry as I am at him for struggling to be excited for my birthday, I still find myself with a fondness for last week’s star piggie. My sweet, soft little chef. He’s special. He picked the most succulent, sordid little dishes for us to enjoy. 

They’ve all got secrets, you know. I like private little piggies, with skeletons and spleens in their wardrobes. Wardrobes that drip with fluids and sorrow. Oh, they are so sweet. 

Clive thinks he’s so clever, capturing people with bigger secrets than he has. He thinks that will earn him his freedom, but the truth is, none of them can be free.

This is not just about a nice dinner, you know. I am eating their pain. I am saving more from the suffering. Nobody can know what they did, and when my jaws begin to snap and they slither down my gullet. They all think that they have a chance to leave, but I can’t allow that. What kind of a guardian would I be? 

Clive cries out “It was just an affair!” but of course, in typical Clive fashion, he doesn’t remember what he did when his lovely wife found out. He doesn’t dare to reveal how she likes the view underneath the new patio he put in. Oh no. Poor Clive. He can’t stand to talk about it. 

He thinks that nobody knows, of course. He’s a good man, for those who will remember him. I will give them that gift. It’s my birthday, and here I am, being generous. 

He will be a man with a wife who ran away, who found someone new, and then unfortunately just vanished… maybe with his erstwhile wife, maybe lost in his grief. Who knows? Who’s to say? They’ll all feel so sorry for him. He will be a good man again. 

Lovely Sydney. Such a kind young woman. She wanted to heal, but it’s just such hard work. All those grandmas and grandads… I’m sure she didn’t mean to. She whispers that to herself every now and again, and I’m sure that she believes it sometimes. She needs to believe it. It is the only thing that keeps her going, but soon, I will save her. I will heal, even though it’s hard work. 

Theodore has much less baggage, I suppose. Nobody knew his victims. Nobody wanted to know, I suppose. The press didn’t care, or the police. Nobody to miss them. Nobody to care. He would get away with it, if it weren’t for the guilt. He gets upset sometimes. God, he’s such a sensitive soul sometimes. An emotional whirlwind. Rollercoaster type, you know. He gets so close to opening his messy, gory little wardrobe sometimes, but then he remembers how unpleasant prison might be, and decides that he’s a good man after all. 

Nobody wants to be the bad guy, and so, I save them the bother. I am eating their shame, and soon, it will all be gone. I suppose I ought to select a new star piggie, so that there may be more healing next week. There isn’t much time. 

There is so much discomfort to devour, and I am fated to be fed by all of it. 

All my piggies, and all of their torment will fill me up, and I will keep going, until I am bound to burst. 

Can’t get too full though… There’s my party tonight, of course. All the neighbours are coming round for a barbecue, and my husband has made a lovely little cake. 

It’s a special occasion, so I shall share my spread with the neighbours, and we will have the most delicious feast. Maybe I’ll even let this week’s star piggie have a slice of cake, and a smidge of sunshine before they are returned back to the pen. 

I am in such a good mood after all, because I’m having the most beautiful birthday.