Written by Chris Dahl
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Saturday, 26 November 2016

image for Animal Farm, Part 7: Welcome to Napoleon Farm

Old Man Kennedy's Saturday boxers, red and tattered by the wind, were still waving in the wind at the top of the pole the pigs had put up. The terror level was still on high alert. Nothing had changed, except that it had gotten worse. When Scylla and Charidibis woke that morning and went the yard to chase their tails a bit before breakfast, they saw another slaughtered boar. It was mangled in the same exact way as the last one. Its belly was slit, its guts were oozing out on to the ground, the neck was slashed and blood was dying the dirt. The dogs started barking so loud as soon as they saw it that the farm was rousted from its slumber. Even the Pigs roused themselves from the muddy pit they have dozed off in after eating their unfair share of grain. Shaking the mud and dung from his face Old George woke and was furious: "Who's waking me up this early. I have very important things to do and the first thing I have to do is sleep. Shut up that yapping!"
Scylla ran in circles, still yapping, yelling for the Pigs and Boars to come and see what on Napoleon's Green Farm was going on and why they had to wake do something. Eventually the dogs had awoken everyone and the animals had gathered round to see the latest act of terror. The Pigs and the Boars barged through the ring of animals encompassing the massacred boar.

"Terror strikes again!" Murdoch proclaimed and stomped his trotter on the ground for effect.

They gasped collectively.

"This will not stand," Old George swore before the frightened animals of the farm. The chicks gathered around the hens and the hens drew near the roosters. The horses gathered their foals and nuzzled into them. The cows kept the calves near and the bird broke from their branches for lower, safer ground. Even the dogs, usually fearless in the face of anything, drew back and formed a pack. "This … will … not … stand!" he repeated, emphasizing each word.
Dramatically, Young George, the anointed leader, sauntered toward the dead animal. He inspected the carcass before him, buzzing with bugs and covered in dried blood. On the side was written another message for the animals of the farm:

this I s WhaT wIll happen Every day uNtiL
ISUS kills AlL Non-Beleivers

"What's ISUS, Young George?" asked Marksy as a foal wobbled on new legs next to him.

"Murdoch, do you know who this is?" Young George turned to Murdoch.

"Oh I do," Murdoch began, making sure everyone heard the gravity in his voice. "I've seen this before. Many a farm has fallen to this vile, primitive group that roves from farm to farm, spreading terror, slaughtering, butchering, and killing the innocent martyrs like this poor boar. They claim they are working in the name of some perfect, invisible animal in the sky that says if they destroy the non-believers, if they die for the cause of their invisible animal in the sky, they will be surrounded by virgins and feasts somewhere up in the sky."

"It's up in the sky?" Scylla asked, looking up to the clouds.

"Where?" Chardibis followed up. "Where could it be?"

"They call it paradise," Murdoch lectured, "a farm somewhere beyond the thickest, deepest clouds, a place where you are not born and you do not die. It's a farm where the corn and apple and feed fall from the sky and it never rains. No, the sun does not even burn your hide."
"Do we have one of those places? One of those paradises?" Marksy asked.

"No," Bernard said. "There's no such thing. You think you die and you float around n clouds eating apples? That's absurd."

"Oh Bernard, this is no time for questioning," Murdoch sounded fatherly. "Of course there is Marksy. We animals have our own, and it's very much the same, just without them. They're not allowed in ours. In fact, I'm pretty sure there's doesn't exist."

"How do I get into ours, Murdoch? I don't want to kill to get into it, though," Marksy asked.

"You follow the laws and work very, very hard for the good of the farm, and then you get your just reward," Murdoch assured the horse.

"That's sounds nice, Murdoch," Marksy commented. "I can do that. I can work hard and follow rules."

"That sounds like garbage to me," Bernard jumped in. "There's no pie in the sky."

"Don't listen to that bitter dog," Murdoch told Marksy. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. Of course there's a reward for hard work after you die. It's Religion. You can look it up."

"What about the letters, Murdoch?" Scylla yelled. "What do they mean?"

"ISUS," Murdoch began and then paused for dramatic effect. "Independent Soldiers United against Swine."

"Where do they come from?" asked Chardibis.

"No one knows," Murdoch confessed. "No one knows where there food comes from, how they come and go and no one sees them, or how no one has caught them yet. They just appear, a swine - excuse me Pig - is slaughtered, and they're gone, leaving nothing but terror in their wake."

"Why do they do it?" asked the Wise Old Owl.

"It's their religion," Murdoch said as he looked into the tree. "Their invisible animal tells them to kill everyone who's not like them. They're primitive, and we Pigs and Boars are terribly advanced, so they call us "swine" and try to kill us and ruin our farms. Since the pigs and boars are the brains of the farms, I suppose they figure that if they kill them, they're cutting off the head of the farm - then the rest of the animals die because there's no one there to lead them."

"So what do you propose we do?" Bernard asked the boar.
"Well, at all cost we must protect the boars and the pigs, the so-called "swine" according to those barbarians. Without them - um, I mean 'us' - there will hunger, starvation and death. ISUS will swoop in here and slaughter you all one by one. Just look at that dead boar right there. Is that how you want to end up?"

The crowd responded with a tattered chorus of "no."
"Good," Murdoch applauded, "then we're all together on this one. First, we made some changes in the constitution."
"Wait," Bernard stopped Murdoch right there, "when did this happen? We just discovered the dead body. So when did you make these changes?"

Murdoch cleared his throat and paused to get his thoughts together. "Well," he stammered slightly, "we … luckily … quite fortunately in fact … foresaw this coming and we were in the process of making these changes. A very lucky coincidence." Murdoch then turned to the crowd and began the speech he had been working on all night. "Animals of Napoleon Farm, due to recent terroristic activities and threats that have harmed our farm, certain measures have been taken to increase our general safety and, especially, the safety our most crucial citizens: Pigs and Boars. This is a State of Emergency, and because of that, the farm is under martial law and everything temporarily belongs to the State. This is to ensure that all goods are secured in case of an increase in the level of danger and/or if the threat increases. Please observe the following changes to the Constitution." He concluded and waved his hoof at the amended rules:

Welcome to a Noo Day on
Goldyn Napoleon Farm
Napoleon's Dream
Welcome to The New OrDer!
In order to ensure the orDer of the farm and the safety
Of all of its citizens You! will live by these few simple rules:

1. Be WhaT Is most hElpFul to The farm
2. Get what you arE Given
3. Do what you should
4. Put in a lot of SacrUfice in This Time of NEEd!
5. Everything on the fARm is ours, not yours Property of the State until further notice!


Now it really is Napoleon Farm once again, Bernard thought to himself as he read over the new version of the constitution. He was shocked more by what wasn't there than what was. This has all happened before. All the animals on the farm had been told, as the sun was setting and the light cracked through the broken slats of wood, how Napoleon had chased Snowball off the farm after setting him up and slandering him. The older animals warned the young about how Napoleon started acting like a Man, how he started drinking alcohol, sleeping in beds and trading the eggs of Animal Farm with humans. The stories always ended with how Napoleon certainly had his farm, but that he had nothing else. He had chased away some animals, killed other animals and some he had just worked to death, like the hero of every animal: Boxer the Horse. I guess it all just keeps coming around, Bernard thought, the Goldyn Times never last. He looked around through the crowd and saw no one was angry, no one was shocked, no one was ready to jump up and tear down the wooden wall that held the broken constitution. They were all just huddled together in fear, so terrified, in fact, that they all they do was wait for the next command from the Pigs and the Boars and hope everything would be okay.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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