Thursday, October 1, 2015

How Sheep Lose Their Brain

          My moist black nose twitches. This space smells off. The air is fresh, but there’s no green in it; no life. Instead, it smells hard, like the rough prod of a silver stick. All the corners are hard too; surgically precise, as though everything is afraid of being soft. The human carrying me shifts his grip, trapping my face against his removable fur. All I can see is white, and all I feel is his fur.
            He carries me through a doorway, and the smell changes. There is iron in it now, the ruddy smell of Old Man Joe’s water. Water that made me throw up. I jerk my back leg. My hoof flies out of the man’s grip only to hit something painfully solid that rings with a dull thud.     
            “Fucking sheep; control yourself.”
            He grabs my leg in a vice grip and forces it back into my body. I try to resist, but my legs are not in a strong position.
            “Need help?”
            “Nah, I got him.”
            I cry out as loudly as I can, hoping his hands move to my mouth.
            “Shut up… Here, bring the sedative.” His grip remains strong. I relax for a beat, trying to lull him. Then, I kick out as hard as I can. Something in my back left leg twists the wrong way, and pain roils up my leg. I cry out again just as a sharp pin bites my neck.
            The man carrying me sets me down on something hard and cool. I brace my back legs to try to get up, but the left one twists again; my hind falls in a lump. I moan. The door is only a couple meters away, but there’s a softness coming up my body.
            “There there. It’ll be alright.” I feel a hand pet my head. I relax into it, letting the softness carry my mind away.  

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