When Mankind Switches Roles

It's Chosen.

A wave of sickness came over myself, threatening to pull me into its mindless depths as a key erupted from the pig's skin folds, towards my prison. I was going to be slaughtered- alive likely. I'd heard of what happened to the victim's that were chosen. They were restrained, then skinned alive- battered and bruised until they couldn't move. 

Bile rose vehemently from my throat, bitter in its taste. I was really going to die. At fifteen, I would be hanged from my feet, skinless and lifeless as the muscle beneath the cover of my skin was revealed and exposed to cold air along with others inside a freezer holding several other corpse's. 

My vision became distorted, salty tear's streaming down my cheek as the imagination just became more and more vivid. I didn't want to die, I thought I'd escape this place one day, live a peaceful life alone- or with anyone I managed to bring along. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. 

I wouldn't let it.

The butcher jerked me from my position, my starved frame weakly resisting against the firm hold. My eye's explored around desperately, my limb's dragging against the floor's surface as I made pitiful noises, begging for help from anyone- anything at all. I tried to latch onto the door frame as I was dragged outside, clinging with the last effort I could muster. It was ruined by a simply tug from the musty, repulsive, grime-covered being that just continued ahead without sympathy. 

That's when I spotted it. The smaller-sized knife in the pig's skin fold's, stuffed loosely towards the back of it. I knew how to use a blade- my mother had introduced me to weapons at an early age for self-defense. She'd been a surgeon, trained by her mother on where and how to precisely cut open someone, perform surgery and help them. Also, the location of major arteries and vital organs. That was all I needed to know. 

I'd bring forth myself, giving it my all as my knee's bunched up, then sprang lightly for the object held in the pig's "self-made pockets". I grasped it from the blade point, cutting myself as I'd pull it from its residence, then landed on my forearm softly. The pig's ear twitched for a moment, though it didn't glance back. It seemed too focused on the rapidly approaching freezer it would first slaughter me in, then freeze my meat inside. I had to finish this right now, or it'd smell my blood from the cut and look back to see what the commotion was. I had to surprise it, here and now before it had the upper-hand opportunity.

I aimed for its thyrocervical artery, then struck, plunging it deeper and deeper until the stab reached more than four inches inside of it. The pig made guttural squeals, and I'd climb its panicking figure, positioning myself on its back. I would struggle to keep myself on top, my nail's digging into the pig's skin as I held tightly, the mammal buckling from beneath me, trying to get me off it. I quickly aimed for its vocal cords as it continued screaming, plunging the knife inside to prevent any more attention to what I was doing. I couldn't have a crowd of animal's coming at myself at once, drawn by the agony of a companion.

Blood pooled from the injury, drowning the animal's insides. It would suffocate from its own vital fluid. The sticky substance stained my hair and pale skin as I brought the knife up once again, then struck the pig's skull, a crack resounding from my attack. 

The butcher twitched once, before falling with a brilliant slam to the ground, it's body stiff as drool and snot dribbled from its snout. 

I rushed to tear it's apron off, keeping the scarlet blood from causing too much of a scene. I don't want too much evidence of my action's left behind.