A Short Story From Freshmen Writing Class 2

Angry Plum
by Giselle Lee

Every pig knows one day when they grow up, they will be taken to a place called “pig paradise,” and the fatter one grows the faster that day comes, which was common sense and ideal to all the pigs at “Mourn Farm.” My job there was to feed the pigs and I guaranteed to do my best to fatten them into big pork balls, gathering leftovers, chopping rotten cabbage, mixing all these with rough grain and then pouring them into the trough. All pigs die for food, so were mine, of course, apart from Angry Plum.

Angry Plum had caught my peculiar attention, since he was born. His mother had thirteen piglets, he was the last one, the unlucky number, besides, unlike his brothers and sisters, he was almost black all over, except a white plum mark on his back, the shape of that plum was twisted like the angry face of a fire monster. That was how he got his name “Angry Plum.”

Compared to the other pigs at Morn Farm, Angry Plum was surely a bag of bones with four long legs and a shorter tail, twisted, making a perfect full-stop. That long and sensitive nose intent to search every delicate change in the surroundings. A pair of abnormal ears, unlike fans, but two alarm bells, energetically raising up like dogs’ ears when hearing any strange footsteps. Sesame is the exact word coming to mind when I try to figure out a thing to describe his eyes. Two shiny sesames were carved into the face to which most females would show no interest, sparkling with passion, longing and wisdom.

Every morning, as the routine, I opened the fence and started to clean up their half-out house, all pigs rushed back to the corner away from me, but only Angry Plum kept tarring at me like a 5-year-old child, took a few trying steps and then retreated. Finally, when I convinced this ugly creature that I was, indeed, harmless, he fluttered to me, turned round and round, and touching my boots with his too-long-a-nose-to-be-a-pic snout. From then on, I and he, set out on our journey of friendship. Dear readers, it was absolutely unbelievable and unreasonable during my time as a free laborer at my grandma’s Mourn Farm, a time when one was in want for something modern and refreshing, I had a pig friend named “Angry Plum!”

We spent most of our time wandering among the fields of barley, enjoying the scents from the waves of gold, or lying underneath the jealous sky, indulging the cool breeze from the valley messing up our hair which he had little of anyway. Sometimes when it was raining, I would lean against the fence and listen to the rhythm of the falling rain while he raised up his front feet, put them on the fence just like a human child, and then lift all his weight on his trembling, skinny back feet, as if to demonstrate himself to be a human, and I knew, I knew that I would never ever forget the moment I saw the falling rain reflected in his eyes, which dawned on me that we were the same.

At the same time, I never expected our friendship could only last a few months, the peace went broke when my grandma found Angry Plum missing. I tore into the pigs’ house, only to find the door unlocked, all pigs remained, but Angry Plum. Punishment? Definitely, but I was grateful to receive it as a gift, because I knew Angry Plum was on his adventure of freedom. I had foreseen this fate in his eyes on that rainy day.

Nothing is more delightful than to know your friend is on the go for his dream. Angry Plum, God bless you, buddy!