I loves animals. They’ve always been good to me and mine. Same goes for plenty of folks round here. We live for ‘em and they lives their lives to help us. It ain’t just all about meat and milk neither. My little Debs has her horses. Anywhere I goes on the farm my dogs is there. That’s why it upset so many people round here. What they said, it weren’t right.
Jimmy Crawfoot wasn’t an animal: he was a sick, fucking psycho. Papers didn’t care. They got their headlines. Beast, animal, whatever. What do they know? Go ask the parents of Cassie Green and they’ll tell you. That fucker hadn’t earned the right to be associated with one of God’s creatures. He was just scum. Pure and simple. He didn’t deserve to keep breathin’. He’s getting what he had coming.
I ain’t got any beefs about what we’re doing – none of us have. The other men wanted to string him from the tree down by the sawmill. Me and Mr Green thought that was too good for the bastard. Too easy. That’s why we’re here this morning – even Sheriff Flannigan. There was no way this was ever going out the county. This is our problem and round here we deal with our own.
Gotta say it’s a fine morning for it. This mist in the Deepvale wood has just lifted. The smell of damp leaves; the rabble of bird song – smells and sounds which make me sure glad to be alive. Our friend here doesn’t appear to be so happy. Squealing like one of old Bob Waterman’s prize porkers he is. Isn’t half making a fuss. Some animal! None of my herd ever went down like this feller. Crying for his mother. Tears rolling down his face.
Cry? You ain’t earned the right for tears. Rot in hell you bastard!
Henry Green is going first. Others will need to wait their turn. It’s gonna be messy, but it’s justice.
These 333 words, based on the third definition of the word ‘animal‘ , form my entry into the Trifecta 96 writing challenge.