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The minor technical detail that she is still alive and breathing will be rectified shortly.\n\nContains mild adult language, death, and a young female horse in peril.\n\nThis story and the characters herein are copyright to Kinto Mythostian. Do not reproduce without permission. I do not endorse snuff in real life. I do not endorse the thoughts or behaviors exhibited by the characters in this story in real life. Consuming raw or undercooked meats, poultry, seafood, shellfish, or eggs may increase your risk of foodborne illness, especially if you have certain medical conditions.\n\nThis is the result of my fourth “Audience Participation” journal that I posted 19 months ago (sorry). Oesem has been very patiently waiting to be shot this entire time. I actually started writing shortly after voting concluded, but also around that time I started a new job that left me very little time to write. Despite the prolonged gestation, I’m not entirely happy with this one. I had a very clear vision of what I wanted, but I worry it’s come out as too procedural. Still, enjoy!\n\nIt is definitely a theme I want to revisit sometime.\n\nThere is no Epilogue this time, but the Inkbunny version does contain some text that will not be in the FA version.\n\n[b]Voting for Round 5 is now open![/b]\nhttps://inkbunny.net/journalview.php?id=277651\n", "description_bbcode_parsed": "As of 10:30 this morning, Oesem the pinto filly is legally dead. The minor technical detail that she is still alive and breathing will be rectified shortly.

Contains mild adult language, death, and a young female horse in peril.

This story and the characters herein are copyright to Kinto Mythostian. Do not reproduce without permission. I do not endorse snuff in real life. I do not endorse the thoughts or behaviors exhibited by the characters in this story in real life. Consuming raw or undercooked meats, poultry, seafood, shellfish, or eggs may increase your risk of foodborne illness, especially if you have certain medical conditions.

This is the result of my fourth “Audience Participation” journal that I posted 19 months ago (sorry). Oesem has been very patiently waiting to be shot this entire time. I actually started writing shortly after voting concluded, but also around that time I started a new job that left me very little time to write. Despite the prolonged gestation, I’m not entirely happy with this one. I had a very clear vision of what I wanted, but I worry it’s come out as too procedural. Still, enjoy!

It is definitely a theme I want to revisit sometime.

There is no Epilogue this time, but the Inkbunny version does contain some text that will not be in the FA version.

Voting for Round 5 is now open!
https://inkbunny.net/journalview.php?id=277651
", "writing": "What to Expect When You're Being Culled\nby Kinto Mythostian\n\n\nBRRRING!\n\n\"That test was brutal,\" Aremm groans as they spill out of the classroom into the over-crowded hallway. \"Seriously, why do we even have to learn algebra anyway?\" The badger shoulders her way through the teeming mass, aiming for the cafeteria.\n\n\"It wasn't that bad,\" her best friend Oesem counters, \"We need to know these things for college.\" The brown-and-white piebald mare lags a little behind; she twisted her right ankle two days ago at cheerleading practice - nothing serious, but the school nurse advised her to go easy on it while it healed.\n\n\"Easy enough for you to say. Everyone knows you'll get a full scholarship to Heartland U without breaking a sweat.\"\n\n\"You know I save my sweat for /important/ things,\" the pinto gives her badger friend a peck on the cheek and playfully swishes her long tail, setting her navy blue skirt swaying. A passing colt classmate does a double take and walks into a trash can. \"Besides, college is years away.\"\n\nA voice calls out from a doorway as they pass. \"Oesem! Oesem, can you come into my office for a moment?\" The school nurse, a looming eland with a striking and unusual black hide, emerges from the doorway to intercept the two girls. \"There's something we need to discuss.\"\n\n\"Sure, Miss Dawn.\" Oesem turns back to Aremm briefly, \"I'll catch up in a few minutes. Save a seat for me?\"\n\n\"Don't take too long. Remember, we still need to rehearse our presentation with Avva for social studies this afternoon.\"\n\n\"Yep, I know. I'll be there.\"\n\nOesem follows Miss Dawn back into her office. \"What's up? This about my ankle?\"\n\n\"After a fashion.\" The eland closes and latches the office door. \"Oesem, this is Mr. Quill. He's with the Department of Agriculture\" A white-furred wolf who had been sitting in a chair beside the nurse's desk stands up and nods.\n\nOesem's tail swishes and her ears swivel on high alert, the wolf sparking deep-rooted instincts in her psyche. \"Hi,\" she says warily. Mr. Quill does not offer to shake hands. \n\n\"Hello, Oesem. I'm a licensed Hunter with the Bureau of Population Management,\" he displays an official ID and a badge, \"Upon official review, your injury has been categorized as fatal.\"\n\n\"Injur--? I twisted my ankle!\"\n\n\"And thereby became more vulnerable to predation. You have been culled. This is your death certificate. As of 10:30 this morning you are legally dead.\"\n\nOesem stares numbly at the document he hands her bearing the heavy embossed seal of the coroner, duly signed and notarized. There amidst the impossible-to-forge scrollwork is her name, and there is her time of death marked as two hours ago.\n\n\"I am here to escort you to the abattoir for harvest.\"\n\nOesem says the only coherent thought she could muster: \"Fuck. I can't believe I spent my last night alive studying algebra.\"\n\nMr. Quill almost cracks a smile. Almost. \"Regardless, you need to come with me now.\"\n\n\"Can I tell my friends?\"\n\n\"They'll find out soon enough.\"\n\n\"But we have a presentation this afternoon. They'll fail if I don't-\"\n\n\"That's no longer your concern. You're already dead.\"\n\n\"But what about my parents?\"\n\n\"They will be informed.\"\n\n\"Do I get to say--?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"But-\"\n\n\"That's the way culling is, Oesem. We need to go now.\"\n\nOesem sighs grumpily as Mr. Quill fastens a black leather collar around her neck and clips on a leash. \n\n\"Goodbye, Miss Dawn,\" Mr. Quill says, tugging on the leash to guide Oesem out to the hallway.\n\n\"Um. Yeah, bye...\" the mare says, understandably distracted.\n\n\"Goodbye, Oesem. Goodbye, Mr. Quill. See you later,\" Miss Dawn says in what Oesem considers an altogether too chipper tone.\n\nThe pinto filly leaves her bookbag and cellphone behind in Miss Dawn's office; she doesn't need them anymore. She clutches her arms close to herself, shoulders hunched, wrapped in her dark blue cardigan. The hallway is already less crowded than it had been five minutes ago. Her clopping hoofsteps echo unwelcomely loud on the terrazzo. People gawk when they see her being led through the halls with a black collar, and then quickly look away; even ones Oesem thought of as friends. A wake of hushed gossip trails behind them. Oesem can't blame them; she can well remember doing the same.\n\nIn front of the school Mr. Quill holds open the door of his unmarked sedan and Oesem sits down in the spacious back seat. There is a metal screen between the driver's seat where the wolf sits and herself. There are no door handles on the inside of the rear doors.\n\n\"Buckle up,\" the wolf reminds her.\n\nOesem stares out the window in silence, not really seeing anything. This is it. She is dead. She will be slaughtered, butchered, rendered, and eaten. \n\nThe car starts and they leave the school, the neighborhood, her home, her life behind.\n\nShe ought to be sad, or maybe even angry, Oesem thinks, but for some reason she can't muster the emotions she would expect herself to be feeing. The more the mare reflects, the more she realizes what she is mainly feeling is relief. Nothing she does anymore matters. She's already dead. She doesn't have to worry about anything ever again. No more homework to slog through, no more cheer routines to memorize, no more college to agonize over... She is a bit disappointed she won't get the lead in the school play - she loves to perform - but overall it feels liberating to have her fate so firmly in someone else's control. Gradually the tension recedes from her limbs. She unbuttons the top two buttons of her blouse.\n\n\"So, Mr. Quill...\"\n\n\"Yes, Oesem?\" \n\n\"I'm dead? Right now?\"\n\n\"Legally. And before you ask for a last request, no, I'm not into necrophilia.\"\n\n\"What? No! That's gross. No, what I... Do you... harvest... a lot like me? My age?\"\n\n\"Population and culling statistics are a matter of public record.\"\n\nOesem sighs. \"No, I mean...\" she gestures purposelessly.\n\n\"Predation is a fact of life. You must have been aware this was a very real possibility. I know for a fact it's required curriculum.\"\n\n\"Yeah, sure. I know the process. We cover it in health class with slides and worksheets and filmstrips and vocabulary quizzes and everything. There's this one video, with a bull. Whoever filmed it, they seemed way too interested in showing off his-\"\n\n\"His 'oysters,' yes, I'm familiar with that one.\" Mr. Quill shifts in his seat slightly.\n\n\"But that's just it. Every video they show us, it's an adult being harvested. It kinda conditions us... I never really thought I'd be... I always thought I'd be older, y'know?\"\n\n\"It is an oversight, I'll admit.\"\n\n\"Right. So... someone should do something about that.\"\n\n\"Do you have something in mind?\"\n\n\"Actually, I do....\"\n\n\n\n--One month later-\n\n\n\n\"That test was brutal,\" Aremm groans as they squeeze out of the hallway into the over-crowded auditorium. \"Seriously, why do we even have to study history anyway?\" The badger shoulders her way through the milling throng, aiming for the front row.\n\n\"It wasn't that bad,\" her best friend Avva counters, \"The Shiccauatt Treaty is a landmark in prey rights.\" The ibex follows at her shoulder, spry and nimble.\n\nAremm grunts, and changes the subject. \"What is this assembly for, anyway? Did anyone say?\"\n\nAvva shrugs. \"Probably another scolding from the fire marshal for not evacuating quickly enough at the last drill or something.\"\n\nThe pair take seats in the second row, behind a younger pair of a goat and a tiger. Up on stage, a large projection screen has been erected to be clearly visible even from the back rows.\n\nAs the last stragglers of the student body file in Miss Dawn clip-clops out onto the stage and gradually the susurration of chatter dies down.\n\n\"Hello students. Thank you for your attendance on such short notice...\"\n\n\"This assembly was mandatory,\" Aremm mutters under her breath as Miss Dawn drones on; Avva snickers.\n\n\"...what this is all about. Today, we are all very fortunate to have been chosen as a test audience for a new educational video produced by the Bureau of Population Management.\"\n\nThere is a collective groan from the audience that is cut off by a crisp \"Ahem!\" from Miss Dawn.\n\n\"I know, you think you've seen them all already, and that you all know the process backward and forward. But this video is brand new; you are the first test audience to see it. \n\n\"It has come to the Bureau's attention that despite being part of the standard health class curriculum, most instructional media related to their mission is geared to an adult, mature audience. This is because a suitable candidate for a culling video intended to prepare younger viewers such as yourselves for the reality and necessity of population management in a mixed-species society has never presented themselves - until now.\n\n\"The Bureau chose our school as their first test audience for a very special reason, one that I'm sure will become clear to you shortly.\n\n\"Please pay close attention. There will be a quiz afterwards.\"\n\nThe auditorium lights dim. The projector screen glows to life, turns black, and the video begins. \n\nWords appear:\n\n\n[center]A Production of the Department of Agriculture\nBureau of Population Management\nin Association with Mythostian Entertainment Limited\n\nWhat to Expect When You're Being Culled[/center]\n\nThe screen fades back to black.\n\nA moment later, the auditorium erupts into hushed whispers as a familiar voice began to narrate.\n\n\"Hi. My name is Oesem. And this -\" A thick rare steak appears onscreen, red and juicy, perfectly marbled, sizzling loudly over a grill. \"- is me. This morning I was alive, just like you are now. I had family, friends, and dreams for the future. I went to school, played the piano, and was even a cheerleader! But none of that matters anymore. What happened? I was culled.\"\n\nNow Oesem appears onscreen, whole and alive, piebald hide gleaming, looking exactly as she did when she left their school a month ago, still wearing her school uniform, her ankle still braced, her mane still neatly groomed and braided. A black collar is already buckled loosely around her neck. Standing in front of a featureless black backdrop she speaks directly to the camera.\n\n\"Culling is an important part of life. Without it, your predator friends and neighbors would starve - and so would you! Culling ensures that populations remain at sustainable levels. Experts at the Bureau of Population Management carefully monitor...\"\n\nThe buzz in the auditorium grows louder, drowning out the mare's voice coming through the speakers.\n\n\"That's really her!\"\n\n\"She always did like being center of attention...\"\n\n\"Diva.\"\n\n\"Produce of a dam--\"\n\n\"Settle down.\" Miss Dawn barks, and the buzz quiets.\n\nOesem continues oblivious to the chatter, her cheery voice projecting from beyond the grave - or the grill as the case may be, \"...is determined by careful analysis of a huge variety of factors. In my case, an ankle injury increased my likelihood of being taken by a predator. That's nature's way!\"\n\n\"That's right.\" A white wolf now walks into the scene. He stands beside Oesem and rests one hand on her shoulder possessively; with his other hand he clips a leash to Oesem's collar. \"My name is Mr. Quill. As a licensed Hunter with the Bureau of Population Management it is my job to officially 'hunt' you down and cull you. I am here to take care of you. You have nothing to be afraid of.\"\n\nOesem speaks, \"Death and predation are natural parts of life. It could happen to anyone, anytime! It could happen to your friends, or your family members, or even you! Today Mr. Quill and I will guide you through just what culling entails, and explore the entire process that it takes to turn this-\" Oesem indicates herself \"- into this:\" The sizzling steak appears onscreen again.\n\nWhen the steak disappears, Oesem and Mr. Quill are standing in a perfectly ordinary waiting room: beige wallpaper, months-old magazines, and chairs with calming pastel upholstery.\n\nAs Mr. Quill leads Oesem to the reception counter by her leash the wolf speaks, \"When you arrive at the abattoir, your identity will be verified with a retinal scan. We don't want to cull the wrong person!\" \n\nOesem places her eye to a device mounted on the counter. After a few moments it makes a DING! and a green light illuminates.\n\nMr. Quill continues, handing over a folder of paperwork to the ocelot behind the counter, \"If a Hunter culls a person other than the one for whom they have been issued a death certificate there are severe penalties. \n\n\"You will also be required to turn in your official identification card at this time. You won't need it anymore.\" \n\nOesem hands her card over to the feline with a smile. \n\n\"Thank you, Miss Oesem!\" the ocelot chirps, \"Have a good day!\"\n\n\"You too!\"\n\nThe scene changes again. The room they are in now appears to be a perfectly ordinary doctor's office.\n\nOesem begins, \"Next it's on to the examination room. You will be required to strip naked for this part. Don't be shy! Show off your meat!\" \n\nOesem shrugs off her blue cardigan and unbuttons her white blouse. She turns to show her backside to the camera and shimmies out of her blue skirt. Never letting go of his end of the leash, Mr. Quill watches with a bemused smile as the mare gives her tail and hindquarters a gratuitous jiggle; she is clearly enjoying the opportunity to exhibit herself. Her pink bra and panties are similarly shed with ease. When she turns to face the camera again she is completely naked aside from the black collar.\n\nHer modest breasts and genitals are tastefully blurred. There is a sigh of disappointment from many of the male students in the auditorium and from more than a few of the females.\n\nOesem continues, \"Your clothes and personal effects will be returned to your family. Now you're ready for assessment. Think of it like a check-up.\"\n\nMr. Quill speaks up. \"Oesem, this is Assessor Bonse. They will be taking care of you today.\"\n\n\"Hi, Assessor Bonse.\"\n\n\"Good afternoon, Oesem.\" Bonse is a spotted hyena in a white lab coat, their gender impossible to discern. \n\n\"This examination is to ensure you are safe to enter the food chain, for your predator friends to eat,\" Mr. Quill explains.\n\n\"Breathe normally for me, please.\" The assessor holds a stethoscope to the pinto mare's chest, listening to her heart and lungs. The hyena likewise check her ears, nose, and throat. Oesem follows Assessor Bonse's instructions with a smile on her face.\n\n\"Everything seems to be satisfactory. We just have a few questions left before we can slaughter you.\" Assessor Bonse looks to their clipboard. \"Does the carcass have any medical implants?\"\n\n\"No.\" Oesem shakes her head.\n\nAssessor Bonse makes a tick mark with their pen. \"Any dental implants?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Any chronic illnesses?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Difficulty breathing? Fatigue? Chronic pain?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Any surgeries in the past year?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Any prescription medication?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Any food or drug allergies?\"\n\n\"Yes, I'm deathly allergic to metal bolts through the skull.\"\n\n\"I'll just mark that as 'no.'\"\n\nThe camera cuts to another part of the exam room.\n\n\"Next, the assessor will record your height and weight,\" Oesem explains. She is standing with her back flat against the wall as Bonse makes diligent note of her withers and poll heights.\n\n\"Now, if you would, please, Oesem,\" the assessor gestures to a large and impressive scale. Oesem steps onto it calmly and the LCD numbers spring into life.\n\n\"This scale is a precision instrument, so be very careful with it and do exactly as your assessor tells you,\" Mr. Quill explains, \"By law, it is calibrated every three months. It is important that your kill weight be recorded accurately because it is used to calculate the size of the tax credit your next of kin will receive.\" \n\nOesem steps off the scale and the numbers flash back to zero before going blank again. \"How'd I do, Assessor Bonse?\" she asks as Mr. Quill uses the leash to guide her to the next station, a matte white backdrop and a camera.\n\nBonse looks up from focusing the camera. \"A perfect healthy weight, just what we like to see. You are in the pink of health, ideal for slaughter. I predict your meat will receive a Prime grade from the inspector. Your parents will be proud.\"\n\nMr. Quill explains, \"This picture will go in your permanent record, and will also be printed on the packaging of the meat harvested from your carcass, so your predators know exactly who to thank when they say grace. So make it a good one!\"\n\n\"How do I look, Mr. Quill?\"\n\n\"Positively delicious!\" The fleck of drool at the corner of the wolf's lips is impossible to ignore.\n\n\"Say cheese!\" Bonse encourages.\n\n\"I'm glad today is a good mane day!\" Oesem smiles for the camera. The camera flashes.\n\nWhen the flash of white fades, Assessor Bonse is gone and Mr. Quill and Oesem are standing in another room. The walls are finished in shiny white tile, with a band of tile the pleasant green color of spring buds at midlevel. The floor is polished concrete, sloping gently to a large drain in the center of the floor. There is a wheeled stainless steel cart with its surface divided into several shallow basins, and a few matching tables. To one side stands a large chair resembling a dentist's and from the ceiling hang an array of hooks and other implements. Windows set high near the ceiling allow the sun to shine brightly into the room.\n\nOesem begins, \"Now it's almost the end for me. This room is the abattoir itself. I'm going to be slaughtered in here. In a few moments, Mr. Quill will fire a four-inch metal bolt through my skull reducing my brain to mush, and then I'll die. But once that happens I won't be much good for narration, so we'll save that for the finale,\" Oesem winks at the camera.\n\n\"The bolt gun completely destroys all higher brain functions but leaves your brain stem intact,\" Mr. Quill explains. The wolf is now wearing a rubber apron, gloves, and boots. \"Your brain stem ensures your heart will continue to beat for a few minutes, but the destruction of your cerebrum means there will not be enough of your brain left for you to feel anything at all. So remember, though what happens next may look painful, you are already functionally dead.\"\n\n\"Right. Don't be frightened by what comes next. I'm not!\"\n\nThe next scene cuts in and provokes a wave of gasps through the auditorium. Everyone knew they would see it eventually, but the sight is hard to prepare for.\n\nOesem - friend and classmate - hangs upside down, as limp as a ragdoll and very clearly dead - or as near to it as to make no difference. A long metal hook is pierced through her injured right hock, her other leg jutting out at an awkward angle. There is a damp stain on her thighs. A dark red wound dead center on her forehead is the only mark on her. Her eyes are blindfolded.\n\n\"As you can see, the slaughter was a success. My brain was destroyed instantly. Thank you, Mr. Quill,\" Oesem says cheerily in voiceover.\n\n\"You're very welcome, Oesem. I take a lot of pride in my work, and I'm glad I could harvest you without needless suffering.\"\n\n\"Now that I've been shot, the first thing Mr. Quill is going to do is drain the blood from my body.\"\n\nMr. Quill takes over the narration, \"It is important to act quickly, while your heart is still beating. Your body will be hung upside down like this and your slaughterer will slice your throat, cutting open all the major blood vessels of your neck. Your heart will pump your blood right out of your body and gravity will do the rest. This loss of blood is what ultimately kills your body.\"\n\nMr. Quill opens a cabinet on the cart to reveal an array of knives. The wolf chooses one and the camera zooms in for an extreme close-up as he cut his blade deep, nearly to Oesem's spine. Thick red blood gushes from the massive gash, spilling into a large metal bucket, foaming and splashing. The mare's head dangles nose downward, her black collar now resting directly against her chin. The structure of her neck is clearly visible in the yawning wound; the muscle tissue, the spurting severed veins, the protruding tube of her trachea, cleanly cut right through and perfectly round. All of it is pulsing perceptibly as the crimson torrent flows.\n\nSomewhere in the back of the auditorium someone retches.\n\n\"That's a lot of blood!\" Oesem exclaims cheerfully.\n\n\"More than three quarts on average for a filly your age,\" Mr. Quill adds. \"All of it is collected and saved. It is used in the production of certain foodstuffs, and other products.\"\n\n\"But don't worry - remember, I don't feel a thing. When the blood stops flowing and my heart stops pumping, I am now totally dead and it's time for the next step.\n\n\"Mr. Quill will cut off my head.\" Oesem narrates blithely as onscreen the dismantling of her body proceeds.\n\nThe wolf switches to a heavier knife. With one hand he grabs her senseless head by the chin and yanks it back, stretching the spinal column. With his other hand he wedges the serrated blade between two vertebrae and saws through her spine. The snap of her spinal cord breaking echoes out of the speakers. One final slice cuts through the last strip of hide attaching head to body and Oesem's head falls to the concrete with a heavy plop.\n\nMr. Quill hefts Oesem's blindfolded head in both hands, her collar falling to the floor ignored, her neatly groomed mane somewhat bloodstained and disarrayed by rough handling, and sets it into the largest basin on the cart. \n\nOesem's voice perkily continues, \"My brain will be professionally examined for any signs of disease. My tongue will be cut out and sold. Yum! If we're lucky, my wound will be small enough that a skilled taxidermist can repair it and my head can be mounted. I hope so. I hope my mount is admired and appreciated for a long time to come!\n\n\"My hide is removed next. It will be tanned and made into leather. My hair might be removed, but maybe not. Mr. Quill says pintos like myself are in fashion now. My skin might be made into a rug, or maybe a stylish jacket for a young predator. Even my tail has value!\"\n\n\"No two hides are alike; it would be a crime to let a one-of-a-kind work of art such as yours go to waste!\" Mr. Quill interjects.\n\n\"Thank you, Mr. Quill!\"\n\nStarting with her legs and working downward Oesem's hide is peeled away from her marbled pink flesh like cellophane from a Kraft Single, helped along here and there by deft cuts from Mr. Quill's knife. The camera follows every step of the process closely, obsessive in its pursuit of detail. Her strong equine legs, her shapely buttocks, the gentle curve of her back, the petite mounds of her developing breasts - the censoring blur vanishes as the skin is removed - her slender arms from her wrists all the way to the stump of her decapitated neck, her entire body is stripped of its unique pinto skin. \n\nThe wolf interjects in narration, \"It is interesting to note that every species I have encountered in my abattoir is nearly the same color on the inside. With head, hide, and legs removed it is hard to tell one carcass from another. You and your friends and neighbors are more alike than you are different!\" The mare's hide is draped over a table for later processing.\n\nOesem resumes \"My flayed carcass will be cut open, all the way from my pelvis to my neck. They have to use a saw to get through my sternum! Good thing I'm already dead! This would hurt. Then all my guts are pulled out. I don't need them anymore. Some are very nutritious. My liver, my kidneys, and my heart for example will be set aside. My small intestines will be used for sausage casings. The rest, the parts that are inedible, will be rendered.\" The organs she names are each displayed proudly to the camera by Mr. Quill as he extracts them from the mare and places them into separate basins of the wheeled cart.\n\nThe wolf adds in voiceover, \"Disemboweling must be done carefully. If anything is damaged or ruptured it could spoil the meat.\"\n\n\"My legs will be cut off below the ankles and my hands below the wrists. There's not much meat here. These parts might be sold - some predators like them for certain specialty dishes - but more likely they'll be rendered.\"\n\nMr. Quill's knife makes quick work of the mare's tendons. Two hooves join the mare's head and organs on the wheeled table. \"Though most paws are ultimately rendered like Oesem said, horse hooves are a sought-after commodity in some industries,\" Mr. Quill explains.\n\n\"Now comes the fun part! It's time to butcher my carcass. Look at all that meat I'm yielding! My carcass is cut clean in half right down my spine. Each half is further divided into cuts.\"\n\nNo longer in the tiled and brightly lit abattoir, the carcass that was Oesem is laid out on a conveyor and guided into a powerful whirring saw. It is completely bifurcated right along the spine, the two halves falling aside onto separate tables.\n\nThe screen likewise now splits in half. On the left, Oesem stands alive and naked, narrating. On the right, half her skinless body lies dead and even more naked.\n\n\"Shank... rump... sirloin... steaks... filly filet,\" she giggles, \"...flank... ribs... shoulder... brisket... mmm!\"\n\n As Oesem lists the various cuts of meat, labels and dotted lines are overlaid onto her living body to show exactly which part of her they come from while simultaneously her carcass is hacked and cut with an assortment of knives and saws into marketable meat. \n\n\"Nothing is wasted! Every ounce of your meat can feed a hungry predator!\" Mr. Quill explains proudly.\n\nBy the time the sequence finishes, there is nothing left that can be recognized as a filly.\n\n\"But what about all those bits we set aside earlier, that couldn't be eaten?\" Oesem asks, \"Some people might think that if a body part cannot be eaten then it is worthless, and is just thrown away. Nothing could be further from the truth!\"\n\n\"Wasting /anything/ would be an insult to our prey friends and neighbors,\" Mr. Quill explains, \"We value you too much for that. The parts we discarded earlier are ground up and processed into a powder.\"\n\nA massive industrial grinder dominates the screen, big enough to accommodate an entire adult. Two hands recognizable as Oesem's and a bucket of assorted internal parts recognizable as nothing at all are dumped in. In seconds they are gone. A pink slurry flows out a conveyor under the machine.\n\nAgain, someone in the auditorium retches.\n\nMr. Quill's voiceover continues over an image of a small mound of dry pinkish-brown powder. \"We call the process rendering. Rendered parts are used in hundreds of applications, many you would probably never expect!\"\n\n\"It's even used for fertilizer that grows the fruits and vegetables you and your herbivore friends eat!\" Oesem interjects happily, \"So you see, culling is essential for the survival of everyone!\"\n\n\"That's right. And, speaking of, it's just about time for your finale, Oesem. Are you ready?\"\n\nThe scene returns to the abattoir, Oesem whole and alive, the room clean and untouched by her blood.\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Quill.\"\n\n\"Very good. Have a seat and we'll have you killed in a jiffy.\"\n\nThe pinto hops in to the chair and leans back, quite relaxed. The chair is quite big for the young filly, but she doesn't seem to mind. There is a generous opening in the seatback allowing her swishing tail to dangle comfortably.\n\nOesem explains as she settles into position, \"At your culling you may request music to be playing - any song you want - or a selection of soothing nature sounds, or no sound at all. Your abattoir will also have earplugs and blindfolds available. Yes, please.\" This last comment is directed at Mr. Quill as he offers her a single-use black blindfold. The wolf places it over the filly's eyes and secures it in place.\n\n\"Can you see anything?\"\n\n\"No sir, Mr. Quill.\" Oesem addresses her unseen audience again, \"I find a blindfold very calming. You don't have to wear one if you don't want to. You can even put your clothes back on if you prefer. The important thing is whatever helps /you/ feel comfortable and relaxed. No one wants your slaughter to be traumatic. If there is something you want, any special last request, don't be afraid to ask.\"\n\n\"Within reason,\" Mr. Quill reminds, \"Any drugs or chemical relaxers are prohibited.\"\n\n\"Of course. You don't want to do anything that would compromise the quality of your meat.\"\n\nMr. Quill addresses Oesem once more. \"Now I'm going to secure you. It is very important at this stage that you do exactly as your slaughterer tells you.\"\n\n\"This is as much for my protection as for Mr. Quill's,\" Oesem explains as the wolf latches her wrists, waist, and ankles to the chair with padded cuffs, \"After I'm shot, I will have no control over my limbs. My muscles may spasm, or my body may try to fight back reflexively.\"\n\n\"Your slaughterer will take great care to make sure you are not hurt. If at any time you are uncomfortable, let them know right away.\"\n\nThe camera cuts to a close-up as Mr. Quill studies Oesem's forehead, measuring out his target. Dotted lines superimposed on the screen link the pinto's left ear to her right eye and her right ear to her left eye. The wolf swabs the spot where they intersect with an alcohol disinfectant.\n\nThe wolf addresses the restrained mare directly, looking his prey in her blindfolded face. \"Oesem, On behalf of the Department of Agriculture, the Bureau of Population Management, and all the predators who will not go hungry, I humbly and sincerely thank you for your life. To die so that others may live is the noblest calling a person may aspire to.\" He gently strokes her head, and then unclips her leash.\n\nOesem nods slightly. \"Thank you, Mr. Quill. It is my honor to perform this duty for our society.\"\n\n\"Ready, Oesem?\"\n\n\"Whenever you are, Mr. Quill.\"\n\nOesem is smiling, a blissful little expression of contentment. Her ears stand tall and erect, not a trace of anxiety.\n\nMr. Quill explains in voiceover, \"Your local abattoir will have a variety of bolt guns on hand to handle any prey. To ensure Oesem's slaughter is swift and compassionate, I will be using the Equukill 1200 Automatic Captive Bolt Gun Euthanizer Mark IV.\"\n\nThe device he shows the camera looks more like a pneumatic nail gun or a power drill than a firearm, with an ergonomic grip, lockable trigger, and finished in a stylish metallic silver color. The muzzle is short and blunt; the pointed spike cannot be seen.\n\nThe classical music that has been playing gently in the background begins to grow louder; some recognize it as a piece from the ballet \"Danse Macabre.\" The camera pans back as the wolf primes his bolt gun. \n\nIn the auditorium, the students whisper and nudge each other. For a moment of editorial oversight Oesem's vulva is clearly visible, plainly aroused and with moisture glistening in the lights. But then the blur returns and modesty is restored.\n\nPointedly ignoring what everyone now knows, Mr. Quill speaks onscreen, assuring Oesem and their audience, \"You won't feel a thing, a short shock like a pinch, and then nothing at all.\"\n\nOesem nods. The camera angle is now wide enough to see her entire naked body, brown and white hair neatly groomed and glossy in the lights. Her chest rises and falls with her breathing, alive and healthy. There is not an inch of spare fat on her frame, a picture-perfect example of a filly coming into the fullness of puberty, though her nipples and genitals remain prudently obscured.\n\nThe wolf's voice continues in voiceover, \"It is essential you stay still and relaxed, so that the kill is precise. A misfire is something no one wants. A clean and painless death is the goal.\" Onscreen, he concentrates silently, lining up the muzzle of the weapon with the prepared target on the center of Oesem's forehead, holding it a few inches away. He flicks off the safety and licks his chops, drooling slightly.\n\nThe audience begins to fidget slightly as the moment drags on.\n\nOesem remains stock still, showing no other outward signs of anxiety or fear. Her chest rises and falls. She swallows, her throat bulging against the black collar she still wears. Her tail swishes idly.\n\n[b]BLAM[/b]\n\nAbruptly, too quickly for anyone to react, Mr. Quill presses the barrel of his bolt gun flush with Oesem's forehead and pulls the trigger.\n\nIn the auditorium, everyone jumps. Some scream.\n\nOnscreen, Oesem's entire body jolts violently once, strongly enough to send her sprawling across the room were she not restrained, too violently to be the result of any conscious action. There is a spurt of liquid from her groin - urine or something else, it is hard to say. Just as abruptly, she falls still. Her life is snuffed out as simply and as quickly as flipping a switch.\n\nThe bolt retracts and Mr. Quill removes the gun from the horse's forehead. An ichorous gore of blood and brain matter drips from the weapon's muzzle and oozes from the hole punched in Oesem's skull.\n\nA button on the chair releases all the restraints at once and the filly slumps to the floor like a ragdoll. Mr. Quill cuts the brace from her injured right ankle, pierces her hock with a metal hook, and hoists her off the ground as the screen fades to black.\n\nWords appear on the screen.\n\n[center]In Gratitude To\nOesem[/center]\n\nThe music continues. The words fade to black again and then a new image fades in.\n\nThe camera pans across a table, set with silver dishes laden with meat: steaks and sausages, liver and kidneys, burger patties and stew, and, yes, a filly fillet - steaming, cooked to perfection, looking good enough to set every mouth to watering. Beneath the dishes, a familiar brown-and-white hide serves as a rustic tablecloth. Everything that has been harvested from the culling of one young mare, enough to feed an entire family. The camera zooms out to reveal the whole table with in the center in place of honor Oesem's head reposed on a silver platter, cleaned of blood, eyes closed, mane once again beautifully braided with blue ribbon, the fatal puncture in her forehead surprisingly small and yet still plain as day. Set off to one side, Oesem smiles from a photograph mounted in a silver frame, the last picture taken of her at her inspection. On the other side, a matching frame displays her meat's official Department of Agriculture certification as Prime.\n\nThe auditorium sits in stunned silence as the credits roll.\n\nIn the front row the young tiger looks at her goat friend, drooling slightly.\n\nAremm leaps to her paws and begins to applaud.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFirst draft began December 2015. First draft completed May 23, 2017. Editing completed May 31, 2017.\n\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "What to Expect When You're Being Culled
by Kinto Mythostian


BRRRING!

"That test was brutal," Aremm groans as they spill out of the classroom into the over-crowded hallway. "Seriously, why do we even have to learn algebra anyway?" The badger shoulders her way through the teeming mass, aiming for the cafeteria.

"It wasn't that bad," her best friend Oesem counters, "We need to know these things for college." The brown-and-white piebald mare lags a little behind; she twisted her right ankle two days ago at cheerleading practice - nothing serious, but the school nurse advised her to go easy on it while it healed.

"Easy enough for you to say. Everyone knows you'll get a full scholarship to Heartland U without breaking a sweat."

"You know I save my sweat for /important/ things," the pinto gives her badger friend a peck on the cheek and playfully swishes her long tail, setting her navy blue skirt swaying. A passing colt classmate does a double take and walks into a trash can. "Besides, college is years away."

A voice calls out from a doorway as they pass. "Oesem! Oesem, can you come into my office for a moment?" The school nurse, a looming eland with a striking and unusual black hide, emerges from the doorway to intercept the two girls. "There's something we need to discuss."

"Sure, Miss Dawn." Oesem turns back to Aremm briefly, "I'll catch up in a few minutes. Save a seat for me?"

"Don't take too long. Remember, we still need to rehearse our presentation with Avva for social studies this afternoon."

"Yep, I know. I'll be there."

Oesem follows Miss Dawn back into her office. "What's up? This about my ankle?"

"After a fashion." The eland closes and latches the office door. "Oesem, this is Mr. Quill. He's with the Department of Agriculture" A white-furred wolf who had been sitting in a chair beside the nurse's desk stands up and nods.

Oesem's tail swishes and her ears swivel on high alert, the wolf sparking deep-rooted instincts in her psyche.  "Hi," she says warily. Mr. Quill does not offer to shake hands.

"Hello, Oesem. I'm a licensed Hunter with the Bureau of Population Management," he displays an official ID and a badge, "Upon official review, your injury has been categorized as fatal."

"Injur--? I twisted my ankle!"

"And thereby became more vulnerable to predation. You have been culled. This is your death certificate. As of 10:30 this morning you are legally dead."

Oesem stares numbly at the document he hands her bearing the heavy embossed seal of the coroner, duly signed and notarized. There amidst the impossible-to-forge scrollwork is her name, and there is her time of death marked as two hours ago.

"I am here to escort you to the abattoir for harvest."

Oesem says the only coherent thought she could muster: "Fuck. I can't believe I spent my last night alive studying algebra."

Mr. Quill almost cracks a smile. Almost. "Regardless, you need to come with me now."

"Can I tell my friends?"

"They'll find out soon enough."

"But we have a presentation this afternoon. They'll fail if I don't-"

"That's no longer your concern. You're already dead."

"But what about my parents?"

"They will be informed."

"Do I get to say--?"

"No."

"But-"

"That's the way culling is, Oesem. We need to go now."

Oesem sighs grumpily as Mr. Quill fastens a black leather collar around her neck and clips on a leash.

"Goodbye, Miss Dawn," Mr. Quill says, tugging on the leash to guide Oesem out to the hallway.

"Um. Yeah, bye..." the mare says, understandably distracted.

"Goodbye, Oesem. Goodbye, Mr. Quill. See you later," Miss Dawn says in what Oesem considers an altogether too chipper tone.

The pinto filly leaves her bookbag and cellphone behind in Miss Dawn's office; she doesn't need them anymore. She clutches her arms close to herself, shoulders hunched, wrapped in her dark blue cardigan. The hallway is already less crowded than it had been five minutes ago. Her clopping hoofsteps echo unwelcomely loud on the terrazzo. People gawk when they see her being led through the halls with a black collar, and then quickly look away; even ones Oesem thought of as friends. A wake of hushed gossip trails behind them. Oesem can't blame them; she can well remember doing the same.

In front of the school Mr. Quill holds open the door of his unmarked sedan and Oesem sits down in the spacious back seat. There is a metal screen between the driver's seat where the wolf sits and herself. There are no door handles on the inside of the rear doors.

"Buckle up," the wolf reminds her.

Oesem stares out the window in silence, not really seeing anything. This is it. She is dead. She will be slaughtered, butchered, rendered, and eaten.

The car starts and they leave the school, the neighborhood, her home, her life behind.

She ought to be sad, or maybe even angry, Oesem thinks, but for some reason she can't muster the emotions she would expect herself to be feeing. The more the mare reflects, the more she realizes what she is mainly feeling is relief. Nothing she does anymore matters. She's already dead. She doesn't have to worry about anything ever again. No more homework to slog through, no more cheer routines to memorize, no more college to agonize over... She is a bit disappointed she won't get the lead in the school play - she loves to perform - but overall it feels liberating to have her fate so firmly in someone else's control. Gradually the tension recedes from her limbs. She unbuttons the top two buttons of her blouse.

"So, Mr. Quill..."

"Yes, Oesem?"

"I'm dead? Right now?"

"Legally. And before you ask for a last request, no, I'm not into necrophilia."

"What? No! That's gross. No, what I... Do you... harvest... a lot like me? My age?"

"Population and culling statistics are a matter of public record."

Oesem sighs. "No, I mean..." she gestures purposelessly.

"Predation is a fact of life. You must have been aware this was a very real possibility. I know for a fact it's required curriculum."

"Yeah, sure. I know the process. We cover it in health class with slides and worksheets and filmstrips and vocabulary quizzes and everything. There's this one video, with a bull. Whoever filmed it, they seemed way too interested in showing off his-"

"His 'oysters,' yes, I'm familiar with that one." Mr. Quill shifts in his seat slightly.

"But that's just it. Every video they show us, it's an adult being harvested. It kinda conditions us... I never really thought I'd be... I always thought I'd be older, y'know?"

"It is an oversight, I'll admit."

"Right. So... someone should do something about that."

"Do you have something in mind?"

"Actually, I do...."



--One month later-



"That test was brutal," Aremm groans as they squeeze out of the hallway into the over-crowded auditorium. "Seriously, why do we even have to study history anyway?" The badger shoulders her way through the milling throng, aiming for the front row.

"It wasn't that bad," her best friend Avva counters, "The Shiccauatt Treaty is a landmark in prey rights." The ibex follows at her shoulder, spry and nimble.

Aremm grunts, and changes the subject. "What is this assembly for, anyway? Did anyone say?"

Avva shrugs. "Probably another scolding from the fire marshal for not evacuating quickly enough at the last drill or something."

The pair take seats in the second row, behind a younger pair of a goat and a tiger. Up on stage, a large projection screen has been erected to be clearly visible even from the back rows.

As the last stragglers of the student body file in Miss Dawn clip-clops out onto the stage and gradually the susurration of chatter dies down.

"Hello students. Thank you for your attendance on such short notice..."

"This assembly was mandatory," Aremm mutters under her breath as Miss Dawn drones on; Avva snickers.

"...what this is all about. Today, we are all very fortunate to have been chosen as a test audience for a new educational video produced by the Bureau of Population Management."

There is a collective groan from the audience that is cut off by a crisp "Ahem!" from Miss Dawn.

"I know, you think you've seen them all already, and that you all know the process backward and forward. But this video is brand new; you are the first test audience to see it.

"It has come to the Bureau's attention that despite being part of the standard health class curriculum, most instructional media related to their mission is geared to an adult, mature audience. This is because a suitable candidate for a culling video intended to prepare younger viewers such as yourselves for the reality and necessity of population management in a mixed-species society has never presented themselves - until now.

"The Bureau chose our school as their first test audience for a very special reason, one that I'm sure will become clear to you shortly.

"Please pay close attention. There will be a quiz afterwards."

The auditorium lights dim. The projector screen glows to life, turns black, and the video begins.

Words appear:


A Production of the Department of Agriculture
Bureau of Population Management
in Association with Mythostian Entertainment Limited

What to Expect When You're Being Culled


The screen fades back to black.

A moment later, the auditorium erupts into hushed whispers as a familiar voice began to narrate.

"Hi. My name is Oesem. And this -" A thick rare steak appears onscreen, red and juicy, perfectly marbled, sizzling loudly over a grill. "- is me. This morning I was alive, just like you are now. I had family, friends, and dreams for the future. I went to school, played the piano, and was even a cheerleader! But none of that matters anymore. What happened? I was culled."

Now Oesem appears onscreen, whole and alive, piebald hide gleaming, looking exactly as she did when she left their school a month ago, still wearing her school uniform, her ankle still braced, her mane still neatly groomed and braided. A black collar is already buckled loosely around her neck. Standing in front of a featureless black backdrop she speaks directly to the camera.

"Culling is an important part of life. Without it, your predator friends and neighbors would starve - and so would you! Culling ensures that populations remain at sustainable levels. Experts at the Bureau of Population Management carefully monitor..."

The buzz in the auditorium grows louder, drowning out the mare's voice coming through the speakers.

"That's really her!"

"She always did like being center of attention..."

"Diva."

"Produce of a dam--"

"Settle down." Miss Dawn barks, and the buzz quiets.

Oesem continues oblivious to the chatter, her cheery voice projecting from beyond the grave - or the grill as the case may be, "...is determined by careful analysis of a huge variety of factors. In my case, an ankle injury increased my likelihood of being taken by a predator. That's nature's way!"

"That's right." A white wolf now walks into the scene. He stands beside Oesem and rests one hand on her shoulder possessively; with his other hand he clips a leash to Oesem's collar. "My name is Mr. Quill. As a licensed Hunter with the Bureau of Population Management it is my job to officially 'hunt' you down and cull you. I am here to take care of you. You have nothing to be afraid of."

Oesem speaks, "Death and predation are natural parts of life. It could happen to anyone, anytime! It could happen to your friends, or your family members, or even you! Today Mr. Quill and I will guide you through just what culling entails, and explore the entire process that it takes to turn this-" Oesem indicates herself "- into this:" The sizzling steak appears onscreen again.

When the steak disappears, Oesem and Mr. Quill are standing in a perfectly ordinary waiting room: beige wallpaper, months-old magazines, and chairs with calming pastel upholstery.

As Mr. Quill leads Oesem to the reception counter by her leash the wolf speaks, "When you arrive at the abattoir, your identity will be verified with a retinal scan. We don't want to cull the wrong person!"

Oesem places her eye to a device mounted on the counter. After a few moments it makes a DING! and a green light illuminates.

Mr. Quill continues, handing over a folder of paperwork to the ocelot behind the counter, "If a Hunter culls a person other than the one for whom they have been issued a death certificate there are severe penalties.

"You will also be required to turn in your official identification card at this time. You won't need it anymore."

Oesem hands her card over to the feline with a smile.

"Thank you, Miss Oesem!" the ocelot chirps, "Have a good day!"

"You too!"

The scene changes again. The room they are in now appears to be a perfectly ordinary doctor's office.

Oesem begins, "Next it's on to the examination room. You will be required to strip naked for this part. Don't be shy! Show off your meat!"

Oesem shrugs off her blue cardigan and unbuttons her white blouse. She turns to show her backside to the camera and shimmies out of her blue skirt. Never letting go of his end of the leash, Mr. Quill watches with a bemused smile as the mare gives her tail and hindquarters a gratuitous jiggle; she is clearly enjoying the opportunity to exhibit herself. Her pink bra and panties are similarly shed with ease. When she turns to face the camera again she is completely naked aside from the black collar.

Her modest breasts and genitals are tastefully blurred. There is a sigh of disappointment from many of the male students in the auditorium and from more than a few of the females.

Oesem continues, "Your clothes and personal effects will be returned to your family. Now you're ready for assessment. Think of it like a check-up."

Mr. Quill speaks up. "Oesem, this is Assessor Bonse. They will be taking care of you today."

"Hi, Assessor Bonse."

"Good afternoon, Oesem." Bonse is a spotted hyena in a white lab coat, their gender impossible to discern.

"This examination is to ensure you are safe to enter the food chain, for your predator friends to eat," Mr. Quill explains.

"Breathe normally for me, please." The assessor holds a stethoscope to the pinto mare's chest, listening to her heart and lungs. The hyena likewise check her ears, nose, and throat. Oesem follows Assessor Bonse's instructions with a smile on her face.

"Everything seems to be satisfactory. We just have a few questions left before we can slaughter you." Assessor Bonse looks to their clipboard. "Does the carcass have any medical implants?"

"No." Oesem shakes her head.

Assessor Bonse makes a tick mark with their pen. "Any dental implants?"

"No."

"Any chronic illnesses?"

"No."

"Difficulty breathing? Fatigue? Chronic pain?"

"No."

"Any surgeries in the past year?"

"No."

"Any prescription medication?"

"No."

"Any food or drug allergies?"

"Yes, I'm deathly allergic to metal bolts through the skull."

"I'll just mark that as 'no.'"

The camera cuts to another part of the exam room.

"Next, the assessor will record your height and weight," Oesem explains. She is standing with her back flat against the wall as Bonse makes diligent note of her withers and poll heights.

"Now, if you would, please, Oesem," the assessor gestures to a large and impressive scale. Oesem steps onto it calmly and the LCD numbers spring into life.

"This scale is a precision instrument, so be very careful with it and do exactly as your assessor tells you," Mr. Quill explains, "By law, it is calibrated every three months. It is important that your kill weight be recorded accurately because it is used to calculate the size of the tax credit your next of kin will receive."

Oesem steps off the scale and the numbers flash back to zero before going blank again. "How'd I do, Assessor Bonse?" she asks as Mr. Quill uses the leash to guide her to the next station, a matte white backdrop and a camera.

Bonse looks up from focusing the camera. "A perfect healthy weight, just what we like to see. You are in the pink of health, ideal for slaughter. I predict your meat will receive a Prime grade from the inspector. Your parents will be proud."

Mr. Quill explains, "This picture will go in your permanent record, and will also be printed on the packaging of the meat harvested from your carcass, so your predators know exactly who to thank when they say grace. So make it a good one!"

"How do I look, Mr. Quill?"

"Positively delicious!" The fleck of drool at the corner of the wolf's lips is impossible to ignore.

"Say cheese!" Bonse encourages.

"I'm glad today is a good mane day!" Oesem smiles for the camera. The camera flashes.

When the flash of white fades, Assessor Bonse is gone and Mr. Quill and Oesem are standing in another room. The walls are finished in shiny white tile, with a band of tile the pleasant green color of spring buds at midlevel. The floor is polished concrete, sloping gently to a large drain in the center of the floor. There is a wheeled stainless steel cart with its surface divided into several shallow basins, and a few matching tables. To one side stands a large chair resembling a dentist's and from the ceiling hang an array of hooks and other implements. Windows set high near the ceiling allow the sun to shine brightly into the room.

Oesem begins, "Now it's almost the end for me. This room is the abattoir itself. I'm going to be slaughtered in here. In a few moments, Mr. Quill will fire a four-inch metal bolt through my skull reducing my brain to mush, and then I'll die. But once that happens I won't be much good for narration, so we'll save that for the finale," Oesem winks at the camera.

"The bolt gun completely destroys all higher brain functions but leaves your brain stem intact," Mr. Quill explains. The wolf is now wearing a rubber apron, gloves, and boots. "Your brain stem ensures your heart will continue to beat for a few minutes, but the destruction of your cerebrum means there will not be enough of your brain left for you to feel anything at all. So remember, though what happens next may look painful, you are already functionally dead."

"Right. Don't be frightened by what comes next. I'm not!"

The next scene cuts in and provokes a wave of gasps through the auditorium. Everyone knew they would see it eventually, but the sight is hard to prepare for.

Oesem - friend and classmate - hangs upside down, as limp as a ragdoll and very clearly dead - or as near to it as to make no difference. A long metal hook is pierced through her injured right hock, her other leg jutting out at an awkward angle. There is a damp stain on her thighs. A dark red wound dead center on her forehead is the only mark on her. Her eyes are blindfolded.

"As you can see, the slaughter was a success. My brain was destroyed instantly. Thank you, Mr. Quill," Oesem says cheerily in voiceover.

"You're very welcome, Oesem. I take a lot of pride in my work, and I'm glad I could harvest you without needless suffering."

"Now that I've been shot, the first thing Mr. Quill is going to do is drain the blood from my body."

Mr. Quill takes over the narration, "It is important to act quickly, while your heart is still beating. Your body will be hung upside down like this and your slaughterer will slice your throat, cutting open all the major blood vessels of your neck. Your heart will pump your blood right out of your body and gravity will do the rest. This loss of blood is what ultimately kills your body."

Mr. Quill opens a cabinet on the cart to reveal an array of knives. The wolf chooses one and the camera zooms in for an extreme close-up as he cut his blade deep, nearly to Oesem's spine. Thick red blood gushes from the massive gash, spilling into a large metal bucket, foaming and splashing. The mare's head dangles nose downward, her black collar now resting directly against her chin. The structure of her neck is clearly visible in the yawning wound; the muscle tissue, the spurting severed veins, the protruding tube of her trachea, cleanly cut right through and perfectly round. All of it is pulsing perceptibly as the crimson torrent flows.

Somewhere in the back of the auditorium someone retches.

"That's a lot of blood!" Oesem exclaims cheerfully.

"More than three quarts on average for a filly your age," Mr. Quill adds. "All of it is collected and saved. It is used in the production of certain foodstuffs, and other products."

"But don't worry - remember, I don't feel a thing. When the blood stops flowing and my heart stops pumping, I am now totally dead and it's time for the next step.

"Mr. Quill will cut off my head." Oesem narrates blithely as onscreen the dismantling of her body proceeds.

The wolf switches to a heavier knife. With one hand he grabs her senseless head by the chin and yanks it back, stretching the spinal column. With his other hand he wedges the serrated blade between two vertebrae and saws through her spine. The snap of her spinal cord breaking echoes out of the speakers. One final slice cuts through the last strip of hide attaching head to body and Oesem's head falls to the concrete with a heavy plop.

Mr. Quill hefts Oesem's blindfolded head in both hands, her collar falling to the floor ignored, her neatly groomed mane somewhat bloodstained and disarrayed by rough handling, and sets it into the largest basin on the cart.

Oesem's voice perkily continues, "My brain will be professionally examined for any signs of disease. My tongue will be cut out and sold. Yum! If we're lucky, my wound will be small enough that a skilled taxidermist can repair it and my head can be mounted. I hope so. I hope my mount is admired and appreciated for a long time to come!

"My hide is removed next. It will be tanned and made into leather. My hair might be removed, but maybe not. Mr. Quill says pintos like myself are in fashion now. My skin might be made into a rug, or maybe a stylish jacket for a young predator. Even my tail has value!"

"No two hides are alike; it would be a crime to let a one-of-a-kind work of art such as yours go to waste!" Mr. Quill interjects.

"Thank you, Mr. Quill!"

Starting with her legs and working downward Oesem's hide is peeled away from her marbled pink flesh like cellophane from a Kraft Single, helped along here and there by deft cuts from Mr. Quill's knife. The camera follows every step of the process closely, obsessive in its pursuit of detail. Her strong equine legs, her shapely buttocks, the gentle curve of her back, the petite mounds of her developing breasts - the censoring blur vanishes as the skin is removed - her slender arms from her wrists all the way to the stump of her decapitated neck, her entire body is stripped of its unique pinto skin.

The wolf interjects in narration, "It is interesting to note that every species I have encountered in my abattoir is nearly the same color on the inside. With head, hide, and legs removed it is hard to tell one carcass from another. You and your friends and neighbors are more alike than you are different!" The mare's hide is draped over a table for later processing.

Oesem resumes "My flayed carcass will be cut open, all the way from my pelvis to my neck. They have to use a saw to get through my sternum! Good thing I'm already dead! This would hurt. Then all my guts are pulled out. I don't need them anymore. Some are very nutritious. My liver, my kidneys, and my heart for example will be set aside. My small intestines will be used for sausage casings. The rest, the parts that are inedible, will be rendered." The organs she names are each displayed proudly to the camera by Mr. Quill as he extracts them from the mare and places them into separate basins of the wheeled cart.

The wolf adds in voiceover, "Disemboweling must be done carefully. If anything is damaged or ruptured it could spoil the meat."

"My legs will be cut off below the ankles and my hands below the wrists. There's not much meat here. These parts might be sold - some predators like them for certain specialty dishes - but more likely they'll be rendered."

Mr. Quill's knife makes quick work of the mare's tendons. Two hooves join the mare's head and organs on the wheeled table. "Though most paws are ultimately rendered like Oesem said, horse hooves are a sought-after commodity in some industries," Mr. Quill explains.

"Now comes the fun part! It's time to butcher my carcass. Look at all that meat I'm yielding! My carcass is cut clean in half right down my spine. Each half is further divided into cuts."

No longer in the tiled and brightly lit abattoir, the carcass that was Oesem is laid out on a conveyor and guided into a powerful whirring saw. It is completely bifurcated right along the spine, the two halves falling aside onto separate tables.

The screen likewise now splits in half. On the left, Oesem stands alive and naked, narrating. On the right, half her skinless body lies dead and even more naked.

"Shank... rump... sirloin... steaks... filly filet," she giggles, "...flank... ribs... shoulder... brisket... mmm!"

 As Oesem lists the various cuts of meat, labels and dotted lines are overlaid onto her living body to show exactly which part of her they come from while simultaneously her carcass is hacked and cut with an assortment of knives and saws into marketable meat.

"Nothing is wasted! Every ounce of your meat can feed a hungry predator!" Mr. Quill explains proudly.

By the time the sequence finishes, there is nothing left that can be recognized as a filly.

"But what about all those bits we set aside earlier, that couldn't be eaten?" Oesem asks, "Some people might think that if a body part cannot be eaten then it is worthless, and is just thrown away. Nothing could be further from the truth!"

"Wasting /anything/ would be an insult to our prey friends and neighbors," Mr. Quill explains, "We value you too much for that. The parts we discarded earlier are ground up and processed into a powder."

A massive industrial grinder dominates the screen, big enough to accommodate an entire adult. Two hands recognizable as Oesem's and a bucket of assorted internal parts recognizable as nothing at all are dumped in. In seconds they are gone. A pink slurry flows out a conveyor under the machine.

Again, someone in the auditorium retches.

Mr. Quill's voiceover continues over an image of a small mound of dry pinkish-brown powder. "We call the process rendering. Rendered parts are used in hundreds of applications, many you would probably never expect!"

"It's even used for fertilizer that grows the fruits and vegetables you and your herbivore friends eat!" Oesem interjects happily, "So you see, culling is essential for the survival of everyone!"

"That's right. And, speaking of, it's just about time for your finale, Oesem. Are you ready?"

The scene returns to the abattoir, Oesem whole and alive, the room clean and untouched by her blood.

"Yes, Mr. Quill."

"Very good. Have a seat and we'll have you killed in a jiffy."

The pinto hops in to the chair and leans back, quite relaxed. The chair is quite big for the young filly, but she doesn't seem to mind. There is a generous opening in the seatback allowing her swishing tail to dangle comfortably.

Oesem explains as she settles into position, "At your culling you may request music to be playing - any song you want - or a selection of soothing nature sounds, or no sound at all. Your abattoir will also have earplugs and blindfolds available. Yes, please." This last comment is directed at Mr. Quill as he offers her a single-use black blindfold. The wolf places it over the filly's eyes and secures it in place.

"Can you see anything?"

"No sir, Mr. Quill." Oesem addresses her unseen audience again, "I find a blindfold very calming. You don't have to wear one if you don't want to. You can even put your clothes back on if you prefer. The important thing is whatever helps /you/ feel comfortable and relaxed. No one wants your slaughter to be traumatic. If there is something you want, any special last request, don't be afraid to ask."

"Within reason," Mr. Quill reminds, "Any drugs or chemical relaxers are prohibited."

"Of course. You don't want to do anything that would compromise the quality of your meat."

Mr. Quill addresses Oesem once more. "Now I'm going to secure you. It is very important at this stage that you do exactly as your slaughterer tells you."

"This is as much for my protection as for Mr. Quill's," Oesem explains as the wolf latches her wrists, waist, and ankles to the chair with padded cuffs, "After I'm shot, I will have no control over my limbs. My muscles may spasm, or my body may try to fight back reflexively."

"Your slaughterer will take great care to make sure you are not hurt. If at any time you are uncomfortable, let them know right away."

The camera cuts to a close-up as Mr. Quill studies Oesem's forehead, measuring out his target. Dotted lines superimposed on the screen link the pinto's left ear to her right eye and her right ear to her left eye. The wolf swabs the spot where they intersect with an alcohol disinfectant.

The wolf addresses the restrained mare directly, looking his prey in her blindfolded face. "Oesem, On behalf of the Department of Agriculture, the Bureau of Population Management, and all the predators who will not go hungry, I humbly and sincerely thank you for your life. To die so that others may live is the noblest calling a person may aspire to." He gently strokes her head, and then unclips her leash.

Oesem nods slightly. "Thank you, Mr. Quill. It is my honor to perform this duty for our society."

"Ready, Oesem?"

"Whenever you are, Mr. Quill."

Oesem is smiling, a blissful little expression of contentment. Her ears stand tall and erect, not a trace of anxiety.

Mr. Quill explains in voiceover, "Your local abattoir will have a variety of bolt guns on hand to handle any prey. To ensure Oesem's slaughter is swift and compassionate, I will be using the Equukill 1200 Automatic Captive Bolt Gun Euthanizer Mark IV."

The device he shows the camera looks more like a pneumatic nail gun or a power drill than a firearm, with an ergonomic grip, lockable trigger, and finished in a stylish metallic silver color. The muzzle is short and blunt; the pointed spike cannot be seen.

The classical music that has been playing gently in the background begins to grow louder; some recognize it as a piece from the ballet "Danse Macabre." The camera pans back as the wolf primes his bolt gun.

In the auditorium, the students whisper and nudge each other. For a moment of editorial oversight Oesem's vulva is clearly visible, plainly aroused and with moisture glistening in the lights. But then the blur returns and modesty is restored.

Pointedly ignoring what everyone now knows, Mr. Quill speaks onscreen, assuring Oesem and their audience, "You won't feel a thing, a short shock like a pinch, and then nothing at all."

Oesem nods. The camera angle is now wide enough to see her entire naked body, brown and white hair neatly groomed and glossy in the lights. Her chest rises and falls with her breathing, alive and healthy. There is not an inch of spare fat on her frame, a picture-perfect example of a filly coming into the fullness of puberty, though her nipples and genitals remain prudently obscured.

The wolf's voice continues in voiceover, "It is essential you stay still and relaxed, so that the kill is precise. A misfire is something no one wants. A clean and painless death is the goal." Onscreen, he concentrates silently, lining up the muzzle of the weapon with the prepared target on the center of Oesem's forehead, holding it a few inches away. He flicks off the safety and licks his chops, drooling slightly.

The audience begins to fidget slightly as the moment drags on.

Oesem remains stock still, showing no other outward signs of anxiety or fear. Her chest rises and falls. She swallows, her throat bulging against the black collar she still wears. Her tail swishes idly.

BLAM

Abruptly, too quickly for anyone to react, Mr. Quill presses the barrel of his bolt gun flush with Oesem's forehead and pulls the trigger.

In the auditorium, everyone jumps. Some scream.

Onscreen, Oesem's entire body jolts violently once, strongly enough to send her sprawling across the room were she not restrained, too violently to be the result of any conscious action. There is a spurt of liquid from her groin - urine or something else, it is hard to say. Just as abruptly, she falls still. Her life is snuffed out as simply and as quickly as flipping a switch.

The bolt retracts and Mr. Quill removes the gun from the horse's forehead. An ichorous gore of blood and brain matter drips from the weapon's muzzle and oozes from the hole punched in Oesem's skull.

A button on the chair releases all the restraints at once and the filly slumps to the floor like a ragdoll. Mr. Quill cuts the brace from her injured right ankle, pierces her hock with a metal hook, and hoists her off the ground as the screen fades to black.

Words appear on the screen.

In Gratitude To
Oesem


The music continues. The words fade to black again and then a new image fades in.

The camera pans across a table, set with silver dishes laden with meat: steaks and sausages, liver and kidneys, burger patties and stew, and, yes, a filly fillet - steaming, cooked to perfection, looking good enough to set every mouth to watering. Beneath the dishes, a familiar brown-and-white hide serves as a rustic tablecloth. Everything that has been harvested from the culling of one young mare, enough to feed an entire family. The camera zooms out to reveal the whole table with in the center in place of honor Oesem's head reposed on a silver platter, cleaned of blood, eyes closed, mane once again beautifully braided with blue ribbon, the fatal puncture in her forehead surprisingly small and yet still plain as day. Set off to one side, Oesem smiles from a photograph mounted in a silver frame, the last picture taken of her at her inspection. On the other side, a matching frame displays her meat's official Department of Agriculture certification as Prime.

The auditorium sits in stunned silence as the credits roll.

In the front row the young tiger looks at her goat friend, drooling slightly.

Aremm leaps to her paws and begins to applaud.






First draft began December 2015. First draft completed May 23, 2017. Editing completed May 31, 2017.

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