Featured Review on this writing by Joe Stuart

Pig Beach 2!

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water... Pig Beach 2!

Image of Tippi by ????????? ???? at Pixabay

Submitted: July 10, 2019

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 10, 2019



Pig Beach 2!

We took Tippi with us on our annual pilgrimage to Pig Beach. Now, before you start pointing fingers at us, assigning culpability, apportioning blame for what happened, let me tell you about Tippi (our gold, fair bird). Tippi was a Strangeling, no ordinary Country Girl. She might have seemed 21-years-old, but that was where, under the rules of our benign sanctity, her flourish, her bloom into womanhood, ended.

In our minds, and in the deeds dictated by our sacred coven, Tippi was required to dress in Strangeling attire: a flowing white robe, ankle socks and leather sandals until she reached the age of 31. Which we deemed a suitable age for her to take her chosen man, Aaliyah (our high, lofty, sublime boy) and have children. The same stringent rules of dress applied to Aal who was required to dress in a similar robe, socks and sandals until he became a man at 31.

Some people might find the Strangeling way of life disturbed, the odd ways of the cult, but we, The Foreordained, are no different from any other cults (vegans, surfers, dancers, cyclists) except that, through the indoctrination of our cult members, we remove choice. Once we have Pig-dipped, some say brainwashed, you into joining our cult, there is no way out, only death. The Foreordained believe in the divine art of fortune-telling, reading the palm of fate. We know when your time has come and, deep in our hearts, we knew that Tippi’s time was nigh.

So, think very carefully before blaming us for what took place, as our sacred idol shall absolve us. Kay sera, sera, whatever will be, will be, the future is ours, you see, kay sera, sera! We, The Foreordained worship the Pig, dine on the Pig. None of those fertiliser-poisoned fruits and vegetables or plastic-tainted fish for us.

We took Tippi with us on our annual pilgrimage to Pig Beach, in the knowledge that the back seat of our battered pink Chevrolet Impala would be emptied of her when we returned to Tulsa. Marta made up some roasted pork and chutney bloomers, munchies and candies for us to eat, and fizzy pop for us to guzzle while we watched Tippi swim.

You see, the beach is our cult’s sacred site for the worship of the Pig, the white-sand chapel of The Foreordained. The swimming pigs have been a draw for members of our cult since Marta and I established pagan rites in Tulsa in ’98.

We arrived at the beach to find Aal standing by his Harley Davidson, dressed in his summer smock and sandals, mind on the clear, bottle green sea that stretched as far as the clear sapphire sky. Marta and I hugged our Aal while Tippi changed into her ash grey, soft cotton, one-piece, swimsuit behind a shrub. I spoke at Aal, registering my concern. He raised his navy shades, wedging them in his blonde buzz cut, so that I could read his crystal-clear, grey-glass eyes. I spoke at Aal, to comfort him:

‘Aal, my grieving son,’ I said, ‘No Pigs swimming in the sea today?’

‘No Pigs swimming in the sea at all, Cabe,’ he confirmed, sadly.

As I wondered why the Pigs chose, occasionally, to desert the hallowed, gleaming waters of Pig Beach for the other side of the peninsula, I heard Marta babbling, in the boot of the Impala:

‘Shall I lay out the feast on the beach mats, Cabe?’

‘If you would.’

‘Three settings?’ she asked.

I shielded my eyes from the brilliant sun, stared out to sea, and saw those fatty shapes, lying, grey and motionless in the warm, tropical water, one hundred yards out. thought I saw the Pigs.

‘Three settings will be fine, thank you,’ I confirmed, ‘Can you see the Pigs, Marta, Aal?’

‘Are you sure, they’re Pigs, Cabe?’ Aal queried, ‘They seem too grey and slim to be Pigs.’

I looked at Aal with fires of wrath burning in my eyes, and thundered, ‘You doubting me, boy? 

‘No Sir!’ he whelped, adding, ‘I can clearly see the Pigs now!’

Tippi padded up to me in her ash grey, soft cotton, one-piece swimsuit, her wispy teak hair tied back in a scraggy pony, her eyes narrow slits, her nose all snub, slender, young, skin as pale as cooked pork. Gave me a cheeky smirk, a chipmunk’s grin, raised her thin brows a mite, pursed her pink lips and said, in a hushed voice filled with syrupy, hickory, tones of awe and wonder:

‘Can I swim with the Pigs now, Cabe? Please say yes.’

‘Yes, Tippi,’ I said, hugging her round shoulders, beaming with pride, ‘Go swim with the Pigs.’


‘Why of course, Tip,’ Marta trilled, tears of joy streaming down her puffy cheeks, ‘In you go!’

‘Aal, will you marry me in ten-year’s time, if I swim with the Pigs?’ Tippi enquired, earnestly.

‘Of course, I’ll marry you, Tippi! It’ll be my privilege to marry you. We can breed babies into The Foreordained! We can bring children to this very same beach to swim with those old Pigs!’

‘Can we, really, Aal?’ Tippi’s eyes were shining. There was no doubt in her narrow-slit eyes.

‘Course we can! When we grow up. I think you should go swim with the Pigs now, don’t you? While I take pork and chutney and munchies and candies and fizz with Marta and Cabe?’

We watched Tippi suck her thumb like a baby. She always sucked her thumb like a baby when she got exulted. Tip glided like a sea snake into the warm water, glided into that sea up to her chest, turned, and waved at us.

‘Love you Aal!’ she cried, ‘Love you Marta! Love you Cabe!’

‘Oh, and we love you, Child,’ we cried in unison, ‘More than life itself!’

The grey shapes moved in the water…




Dr Jade Bicker, 32, from Tulsa, was in a tour boat on the other side of the peninsula watching the Pigs swim when the attack happened.


She said, ‘About 45 minutes after we had snorkelled in that exact spot a distraught young man wearing a flowing white robe and leather sandals ran over to say a girl had been bitten. Everyone got out of the water, and we were pretty scared. When we were climbing back into the boat there were two small ones still in the water and one large one.’


Dad, Milford, 52, from Tulsa, wept: ‘We already miss her so much. She was so caring. She loved pigs so it’s ironic she would die in an attack.’


A GoFundMe page has been set up by Tippi’s sister, Violin, 23, to help pay to take her body back to Tulsa.


The page said: ‘Tip was a beloved daughter, sister, girlfriend, and a good friend of The Foreordained.’   


Aal rushed to her aid when he saw them attack her.


An emergency boat took her to hospital in the capital, but she could not be saved.


Tippi, 21, from Tulsa, was killed by three sharks after members of the bizarre pig-worshipping cult, The Foreordained, from Tulsa, failed to scream a warning that they were approaching.


A witness, 21, from Tulsa, who declined to be named, said, ‘She was savaged by tiger sharks, which usually hunt alone. It is thought to be the first fatal shark attack off Pig Beach in more than a decade.’


He added that the swimming pigs have been a draw for Cabe Fartell, Marta Kardashian, Jade Bicker and her kids, and members of The Foreordained, since their inception, in Tulsa, in ’98.


Tippi Fairbird, 21, a student of the occult, was bitten on her legs and buttocks and had her right arm torn off.



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