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T he air hangs thick in the late summer night, like trying to breathe through a wet blanket. If the air doesn’t suffocate me, the ripe smell of horseshit and human viscera surely will. Grease paint sits heavy on my cheeks, and perspiration sticks to it instead of rolling freely off my skin. I carefully painted each clown detail onto my face to prepare for tonight’s show, but I’m ready to fucking scratch it all off. I jostle my leg in the stirrup, sitting on my hands. Just as I’m about to break, a breeze drifts across my skin, temporarily relieving me from the itch and stench.

From the far side of the corral, I sit on my horse, Jasper, and take in the little arena. The rusted red metal fence encloses it, attaching at either end to a faded, white loft barn. The lights we’ve installed block out the twinkle of stars but flood the open space with a bright yellow glow. Two sets of wooden stands sit empty on either side, built by Cat as a gift for my birthday. Closing my eyes, I see the stands packed with a cheering crowd, all of them feverishly calling out for blood.

“Sadie Rae, make him pay!”

The metallic clang of a rattling cage carries across the arena, accompanied by muffled screams. A grin spreads across my face, the discomfort of the paint completely forgotten. Adrenaline surges through my bloodstream like a river broken free from its dam. Jasper whinnies and shifts below me, and I roll my neck with a satisfying crack. Then, after a long, deep exhale, I kick my legs in the stirrups.

As we gallop towards the chute jutting from the barn, I put both arms up to wave at the crowd. Excitement builds as Jasper makes a circle in the center of the arena. I dramatically twirl both pigtails, swinging my head side to side while dancing in the saddle. The crowd loves a big entrance.

They chant my name, each time a little louder than the last.

Jasper lines himself up with the chute, and we wait. I focus on the rise and fall of my chest, steadying myself against my racing thoughts. It won’t be long now. Streams of air roll out of Jasper’s nostrils in furious waves, his anticipation matching my own.

“Sadie Rae! Sadie Rae!”

The zap of an electric cattle prod chirps from the barn. A hand slaps against bare skin, quickly followed by the clumsy shuffle of hands and feet against dirt. The sounds all seamlessly play into the next, like notes composed for a sinister symphony.

My pulse kicks up, throbbing in my wrists as I tighten my hold on the reins. A familiar wave of elation washes over me, making my teeth chatter. “Ya ready for this little piggy?” Catalina finally calls. “He’s a live one!”

“Cut ‘em loose!” I holler, a whoop of excitement bursting from me. The chute reverberates from the panicked thrashing against its wooden walls. Cat runs along its length and leaps to open the gate. She throws one long, lean leg over the side, straddling the wall, her worn boots clattering against the boards. As the gate creaks open, my stomach somersaults, and I squeeze my thighs to remain upright in the saddle. The screaming inside my head dulls to a whisper.

“Make him pay.”

My little piggy stumbles out from the chute into the bright lights. The ropes, once binding his legs, trail behind him like snakes in the sand. A deep purple bruise from a shackle circles one ankle, and the plastic of his pig mask crackles as he slams his head around, trying to clear his vision. His elbows twist and bend grotesquely behind him, trying to free his arms. His wrists, swollen and raw from the friction of the rope, stay bound. Without wanting to lose his forward momentum, he feebly attempts to look back, driven by the need to see what’s chasing him. As his balance shifts, he trips and tumbles to his knees.

Hoots and hollers rise from the crowd.

A cloud of dust kicks up around him. My lips curve in satisfaction as he continues to wail. The bandana gagging him stifles the sound, distorting it into something animalistic. Our piggy eventually stands and tries again to hobble away as Catalina cheers, ringing a cowbell wildly.

“Yah!” I shriek, beckoning Jasper to bolt full speed towards our target. The sharp puffs from his nose and the beat of his hooves against the ground steadily drum in my ears. I toss my head back to laugh, enjoying the wind as it whips through my hair.

Hats wave out in the stands! The crowd shouts their demands for the piggy to run faster!

Little piggy falls on his face, unable to change direction quick enough before I cut in front of him. “Old MacDonald had a farm,” I croon. I reel Jasper back, giving the piggy a chance to get up so he can hopelessly run in another direction. Cat gives me the ready signal from over by the chute, where she has made a fresh mud pit with a hose. I wait until he’s a measly twenty feet from me before riding up on him again, cutting him off and forcing him back towards the chute. “E-I-E-I-O!”

“And on this farm he had a…” Catalina howls, reaching out to grab the passing pig and slam him into the mud. He grunts loudly as his back squelches into the muck.

“Pig!” we vocalize in unison as I toss a circle of rope around his neck. He rolls in the mud, fighting the rope in a futile effort without the use of his arms. I pull back on it, cutting off his air supply. The pungent scent of fear rises from the mud, and I savor it like it’s the smell of my favorite meal. If I could see behind his mask, I guarantee a river of snot and tears would be trailing down his sad little face.

“Pig! Pig! Pig!”

“E-I-E-I-O!” we serenade. I loosen my hold on the rope as Catalina straddles him, holding his squirming body between her strong thighs. She slams one palm into his chest, knocking any remaining wind from his lungs. He gurgles, sputtering and gasping for air. Cat pulls the mask back from his face a couple of inches before letting it snap back. She gleefully laughs before pushing her full weight against him, forcing him to roll to his stomach. With a knee on his back, she grabs his tied wrists in one hand and reaches for a coil of barbed wire with the other. As she wraps the wire around his arms, the barbs sink into his flesh. Blood trickles from the small lacerations, making my mouth water with its sweet, metallic scent.

“BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!”

Catalina tightens the strand and draws his arms back to his ankles. Piggy lets out a strangled cry as she contorts his body into the unnatural shape needed to secure his limbs together. Rivulets of scarlet trail down his arms and legs as the barbed wire digs in deeper with each squirm. She releases him and Piggy flops to his side, splashing back into the mud.

Cat stands to admire her work and brings her boot under the piggy’s chin. She uses it to tilt his head until it almost touches his back. “With an oink oink here,” she continues. “And an…” She pauses, waiting for him to finish the line, but she quickly loses her patience. “I don’t hear you.”

A stream of boos come from the stands.

The pig utters a pathetic squeak instead of the oink she was hoping for. This one is not a crowd pleaser. Agitated and displeased, Cat slams her boot into his face. He squawks against the gag, and a wet, hacking cough racks his entire body as he chokes on the blood pouring from his nose. Liquid red steadily drips from under the mask.

“BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!”

“Close enough,” she chuckles and turns to me. I sit on my horse with a wide smile proudly plastered across my face, admiring my baby in all her murderous glory. Her eyes sparkle as she flashes a grin back at me, setting my heart ablaze. I don’t get to see her like this often, since she prefers the disposal process after I’ve had my fun.

The body below her groans again, wiggling in the mud more like a grub than a pig. Cat spits on him, a thick wad splatting against the mask. She pulls a gutting knife from the sheath around her ankle, hidden by her boot, and crouches next to the piggy. She wipes the mud from the blade against her jeans until the hooked tip shines in the bright arena lights. With the knife in one hand, she grips the piggy’s hair in her other and raises his muddy head.

The crowd goes silent, holding a collective breath.

“E-I-E-I-O!” we holler together. Piggy’s squeals blend into our chorus as Cat stabs the knife into his diaphragm, working the blade down past his navel. The noise of his gristle coming apart to expose his soft insides sounds like a mixture of unzipping a jacket and tearing a thick piece of paper. Cat flays his skin back, opening him up with the same enthusiasm as a child unwrapping a gift on Christmas. Beneath all the blood, his membranes shine like oil atop water. When Cat steps back, I jerk the rope taut again and snap my reins, giving Jasper the go-ahead to make his final lap around the corral.

As we pull away from the chute into the spotlights of the arena, little piggy’s innards spill out like ribbons trailing behind us. “E-I-E-I-O!” I sing once more, dragging out the ‘o’ in a last, long note.

The crowd erupts, cheering until their faces turn red and stomping their feet until the stands rattle. “Sadie Rae made him pay! Sadie Rae made him pay!”