Flash Fiction Friday: Swine and Dine

Based on an image prompt by Joshua Bader

The quarterly meeting of the Brotherhood of the Swine was expected to be the same as always. The members, mostly wealthy men with nothing but money and free time, would dine on a lavish feast prepared by servants held in captivity. The prisoners were more than just servers of food; they were also sex slaves catering to every perverse taste (un)imaginable to man.

The night began as always, with each of the men taking an oath of allegiance to the Brotherhood. They would take turns standing below the portrait of their leader, their voices muffled by the latex pig masks each of the wore. The words were still clear enough to be heard; “To swine is divine, to indulge and dine, and take what is rightfully mine. Long live the Brotherhood.”

The men gathered around a circular table, gorging themselves on the most succulent dishes. They mashed the food through holes cut into their masks, greasy hands pawing at the servers as each new dish landed on the table.

When the first crash echoed through the banquet hall, the men believed it was nothing more than a clumsy server dropping a tray of dishes in the kitchen. That idea quickly vanished when masked men, dressed in black and brandishing semi-automatic weapons, forced their way into the room.

Each of the invaders wore patches across their chests reading, “ATF,” as they screamed for the billionaires to get down on the ground. The Brotherhood looked at one another and rose as one, reaching for weapons strapped to their hip. The movement came as a surprise to the government men, so much so that a couple went down when the first shots were fired. That was all it took for Hell to be unleashed.

The members of the ATF opened fire, a spray of bullets cutting through tuxedos and latex pig masks like a knife through butter. Blood fanned out in all directions, plastering the wall like a Pollock painting. By the time it was over, every member of the Brotherhood of the Swine lay in pools of blood on the lush carpet.

A heady mixture of gunpowder, blood, and high-priced cuisine filled the air, causing a few of the ATF men to retch. It should have been over, the servants should have been saved, but as soon as the first of the fallen Brotherhood began to snort like a pig and rise, it became clear that the power of the cult had been underestimated.