Su turno / His turn

Su turno

“Este gordo ocupa mucho lugar. Sacadle de aquí. Total, ya le toca.”

El aludido no pudo evitar que un escalofrío le recorriese el espinazo. Aunque no lo pareciese, estaba consciente y no, no fue el frío lo que le hizo temblar. Notó cómo le cogían y cómo, resoplando, le arrastraban hasta un habitáculo aún más pequeño, oscuro. Gruñó, gimió, chilló, intentó revolverse…

“Parece que notase que llegó su hora. ¿Cómo lo notarán siempre?”, rió la misma voz. “Eh, puerco, ¿cómo sabes cuándo es tu turno?” Riendo, alejó la cara del cerdo y se volvió de frente al resto de la piara.

-.-.-.-

His turn

“This fat one takes up a lot of room. Take him outta here. Anyways, it’s his turn.”

The aforementioned couldn’t help to shudder. Even if he didn’t look like it, he was awake and conscious and no, it wasn’t the cold what made him shiver.  He felt how they grabbed him and how, buffing, they carried him to a dark smaller room. He whined, whined, squealed, tried to free himself…

“It’s like he feels it’s his time. How is it that they always know?” The same voice laughed. “Hey, you pig, how do you when is your time? “ Laughing, he pulled away from the pig and faced the rest of the drove.

A sign I found in July 2012 in the centre of Paris. If I’m not mistaken, it was next to a traffic light on the Pont des Arts. Or, at least, next to it.

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