Death to Piggie: A Bloody Tale

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So I'm sitting outside my boardinghouse, playing cards with Ghay and watching his 3 cousins, our neighbors, play with their new skateboard. It is a very peaceful morn. Then a crowd of men come through our alley, leading a pig.
"Where are they taking that pig?" I ask Ghay.
"To the Canteen," He replies, not really paying attention to me, but to the game. I have taught him "War," and he is convinced that his victories are not that of luck, but evidence of his supremacy. Right.
"To do what?" I ask, nudging him.
"To kill it."
"But...but....how do they kill it?" I'm nervous now.
"With a hammer."
"What!?
I finally have his attention. "Yeah, bam, bam, bam!" He pantomines, grinning at my shocked look. "Sometimes my father lets me kill the pig, and it takes me maybe 4 hits."
"Oh God." I stare at him, a STRANGER!!
Just then I hear sqqeeeealguhsdhuhusdfhfsqqqqeeeeeee---WHAM! I shove my fingers in my ears, cringing. The sound is horrendous. A new crowd has gathered by the canteen backyard, like it's the matinee show. I'm the only one hyper-ventilating.
"Are they finished yet?" I ask, fingers in ears.
He cocks his head to the side and listens. "No, not yet.
WHAM.
I can't help it, but I tear up! And all the boys, ages 5, 7 and 9, and Ghay, start laughing at me. I feel so bad for Porky, I'm seriously rethinking vegetarianism at this point. That night, I eschew pork for chicken.

The next morning I'm feeling ill. Didn't realize it at the time, but it's the beginning of tonsilitis, and the world is NOT my friend at this point. Everyone is shocked to hear that, I'm sure. :-)
It's very noisy outside. I love the cousins, Bim Bim, A.J. and Bens, but they're going crazy, and only bamboo walls separate their room from mine. I groan, but endure. Then that wretched pig squealing starts up again. Oh God, I moan. I put my fingers in my ears and wait. Nothing.
"Are they killing it yet?" I ask Ghay.
He listens. "Not yet."
Thirty minutes later, the pig is still alive and as noisy as ever. My patience is fading as fast as my headache is growing.
"What is WRONG with that pig?" I demand.
"I think it's hungry."
"Arrrrrrrrgh."
An hour later, I'm at the end of my rope and the scream that bursts from my chest like a bloodthirsty battle cry is beyond my control:
"KILL IT! Just kill the damn pig already!!!!!!!"
Mercifully, it gets quiet and I fall back asleep. That night, I eat pork for dinner.

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