got the
undignified task of shovelling pig shit, but at least he didn’t have to deal
with the animals, since he was working in an empty pen. And thank God. Those
fat beasts looked hungry enough to try and have a bite from their carer. To do
his task, he was given long, rubber boots that were too large for him, so he
had to stick some hay inside to keep them from falling off with each step. With
no one to talk to, Victor sunk into the fantasy of his soft bed back home and
lemon drizzle cake. He would wake up with a lover at his side and hide him in
the wardrobe so that the maid wouldn’t have to watch their naked bodies tangled
in sweaty sheets. Everything to forget what he was up to, even though he did
have to look at the sickening mush beneath his feet.
A snap of fingers right in front of his face
instantly tore him out of the fantasy. He looked up at a random guard he hadn't
seen before.
“Who told you, you can sing at work?” the man
growled and pushed at his chest, dangerously close to the pile of excrements.
Victor blinked. He didn’t even notice that he had started humming.
“I didn’t think... it wasn’t allowed. Did I hurt
your ears, mister?” he forced with a smile, even though all his limbs turned
into wood.
“Let ‘im sing, Tony!” Crunch chuckled from his
seat by the wall, as he was stuffing his pipe, a good move in a place like
this. “I was told he was a singer in London. Caged canary now.”
Victor swallowed, looking straight into Crunch’s
eyes, even though his heart sunk in sadness at the truth of that last
statement. “Did you like my singing, mister?”
“Anything to break the boredom of watching you slugs
work.” Crunch shrugged, but gave Victor a bit more attention as Tony walked
back and sat on the same bench as him.
“What would you have me sing? Is there any song
that you like in particular?” Victor dared a small smile, even though he knew
he had to look far from seductive in shit-stained boots and all sweaty. The job
was harder than he had imagined, especially that he had to clean out all of the
pens and was only finishing up the second one.
“Dunno songs, boy.” Crunch lit his pipe and
scrutinized him with a slight frown.
Victor swallowed and averted his eyes, gathering
another shovelful, which he carried to a buggy they used to take the faeces out
of the building. His biceps were already hurting as he wasn’t used to doing
this kind of labour. His mind focused on how horrible he had to look with his
face reddened and sweaty, with hair sticking to his forehead. He intoned the
first thing that came to his mind, a song his mother liked. When he was still a
child, he used to sing it for her all the time, without understanding the true
meaning of the lyrics. He didn’t know the melancholy behind the longing to
return into the shadows of a weeping willow. To meet a lover, no questions
about it now. And he, whose lovers had to always remain in hiding, understood it
better than most.
Crunch must have grasped the idea, because he
smirked, lazily taking out nuts out of their shells one by one as he smoked.
***
The day went by slowly, with Victor tediously
progressing to subsequent pens, his back and arms stinging like never before.
He was sweating. Like a pig. He wanted to laugh at the pun in his mind, but
wasn’t in the mood. Not even caring to sing anymore, he tried his best not to
stop working. He was certain that if he got some rest, his muscles would refuse
to cooperate.
He got distracted by a crunch that sounded
like a breaking nut shell and groaned. He couldn’t understand how Crunch could
be eating anything with the thick odour around. Crunch .
Victor glanced to his right, over the naked floor
of the pen and drew in a sharp breath when he noticed the familiar boots. His
gaze trailed up Crunch’s body, all the way to his handsome face. The man was
now leaning on a fence by the entrance to the pen. Getting increasingly
self-conscious, Victor felt an
undignified task of shovelling pig shit, but at least he didn’t have to deal
with the animals, since he was working in an empty pen. And thank God. Those
fat beasts looked hungry enough to try and have a bite from their carer. To do
his task, he was given long, rubber boots that were too large for him, so he
had to stick some hay inside to keep them from falling off with each step. With
no one to talk to, Victor sunk into the fantasy of his soft bed back home and
lemon drizzle cake. He would wake up with a lover at his side and hide him in
the wardrobe so that the maid wouldn’t have to watch their naked bodies tangled
in sweaty sheets. Everything to forget what he was up to, even though he did
have to look at the sickening mush beneath his feet.
A snap of fingers right in front of his face
instantly tore him out of the fantasy. He looked up at a random guard he hadn't
seen before.
“Who told you, you can sing at work?” the man
growled and pushed at his chest, dangerously close to the pile of excrements.
Victor blinked. He didn’t even notice that he had started humming.
“I didn’t think... it wasn’t allowed. Did I hurt
your ears, mister?” he forced with a smile, even though all his limbs turned
into wood.
“Let ‘im sing, Tony!” Crunch chuckled from his
seat by the wall, as he was stuffing his pipe, a good move in a place like
this. “I was told he was a singer in London. Caged canary now.”
Victor swallowed, looking straight into Crunch’s
eyes, even though his heart sunk in sadness at the truth of that last
statement. “Did you like my singing, mister?”
“Anything to break the boredom of watching you slugs
work.” Crunch shrugged, but gave Victor a bit more attention as Tony walked
back and sat on the same bench as him.
“What would you have me sing? Is there any song
that you like in particular?” Victor dared a small smile, even though he knew
he had to look far from seductive in shit-stained boots and all sweaty. The job
was harder than he had imagined, especially that he had to clean out all of the
pens and was only finishing up the second one.
“Dunno songs, boy.” Crunch lit his pipe and
scrutinized him with a slight frown.
Victor swallowed and averted his eyes, gathering
another shovelful, which he carried to a buggy they used to take the faeces out
of the building. His biceps were already hurting as he wasn’t used to doing
this kind of labour. His mind focused on how horrible he had to look with his
face reddened and sweaty, with hair sticking to his forehead. He intoned the
first thing that came to his mind, a song his mother liked. When he was still a
child, he used to sing it for her all the time, without understanding the true
meaning of the lyrics. He didn’t know the melancholy behind the longing to
return into the shadows of a weeping willow. To meet a lover, no questions
about it now. And he, whose lovers had to always remain in hiding, understood it
better than most.
Crunch must have grasped the idea, because he
smirked, lazily taking out nuts out of their shells one by one as he smoked.
***
The day went by slowly, with Victor tediously
progressing to subsequent pens, his back and arms stinging like never before.
He was sweating. Like a pig. He wanted to laugh at the pun in his mind, but
wasn’t in the mood. Not even caring to sing anymore, he tried his best not to
stop working. He was certain that if he got some rest, his muscles would refuse
to cooperate.
He got distracted by a crunch that sounded
like a breaking nut shell and groaned. He couldn’t understand how Crunch could
be eating anything with the thick odour around. Crunch .
Victor glanced to his right, over the naked floor
of the pen and drew in a sharp breath when he noticed the familiar boots. His
gaze trailed up Crunch’s body, all the way to his handsome face. The man was
now leaning on a fence by the entrance to the pen. Getting increasingly
self-conscious, Victor felt an
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