Assonance (ass’-o-nance): Repetition of similar vowel sounds, preceded and followed by different consonants, in the stressed syllables of adjacent words.
I told him to dig the pit—this pig ain’t getting any younger! What? You like antique pork? I did not mean it. I did not want to be there. I didn’t want to whack and gut the poor little piggy. His name was Porky. I had raised him for Four-H and won a blue ribbon for the job I had done. In everybody’s mind down here, pigs are for breeding and eating. In the end they all end up on the chopping block, after they can’t make piglets any more, or when they’re tender and juicy and good to eat. They’re also eaten as “sucklings” at 2-6 weeks old. That’s pretty barbaric. Porky is one year old. Good eating age. I could still pick him up and hug him. He seemed to like it.
He kept catching my eyes with his little pig eyes from his pen. He looked like he was pleading. I could smell the smoke and hear Mr. Giles sharpening the butcher tools. Porky will be shot in the head with a .357, and then taken apart with knives and a cleaver—all razor sharp. Then I did it. I opened Porky’s pen and picked him up and ran like hell. Porky oinked like he was cheering me on. I heard people running after me and yelling things like “you bastard,” “F’in thief,” “Your ass is grass.” Now, they cranked up their ATVs and were coming across the field to get me. I thought for sure they’d kill me. They caught up with me and I handed over Porky. I hopped the back of one of the ATVs and rode back to the pit.
Uncle Pete told me not to worry: “This kind of thing happens all the time when kids make their 4-H projects into pets. It happened with me and my rabbit Penny. It’s hard to eat your pet, but once you get a juicy chunk of tender Porky pork loin in your mouth—mmm mmm—all those doubts and hesitations will disappear.”
Uncle Pete made a lot of sense. Why not eat Porky? He was just a pig. Porky was looking at me again with his little pig eyes. I knew that he knew I was going to be complicit in his murder. As I stood there he snoffled at Me pitifully, but my mind was made up. Uncle Pete had gotten to me. When I heard the .357 and Porky’s final squeal coming from behind the barn, my mouth started watering.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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