So, let me start by saying, I did *not* sign up for this.

One minute, I'm just minding my own business, crossing the street while checking out the latest meme dump on my phone, and the next thing I know—*BAM*! I'm roadkill, courtesy of some overworked truck driver with no respect for pedestrians or casual internet browsing.

You'd think that'd be the end, right? Wrong. Instead of fading to black, the universe decided it'd be *hilarious* to throw me into a new body. Which sounds cool in theory, except... well... *I'm a pig*.

Yes. You heard that right. I got reincarnated as a pig. Not a majestic lion, not an all-powerful dragon, not even a mystical wizard. Nope. I'm just pork on legs.

Oh, and did I mention I'm about to be *slaughtered*? Yeah. Great start.

When I woke up in this new piggy form, my first thought wasn't "Wow, I'm alive!" or "I wonder what majestic world this is!" No. My first thought was, *Why is everything so muddy and... why can I smell everything so intensely?*

That's when it hit me—*literally*.

Some jerk pig bumped into me, grunting like he owned the place, and that's when I noticed I wasn't alone. I was surrounded by a bunch of other pigs, all just casually snuffling around like this was totally normal.

"Excuse you!" I tried to yell, but instead of words, all I heard was... *OINK*.

Wait, what? No. No way. I rushed toward a nearby water trough (because every farm setup in every movie ever has one of those, right?). Peering into the water, my reflection stared back at me—small, pink, with the most unfortunate nose-to-body ratio I'd ever seen.

"I'm a freaking pig?!" I squealed—literally, again.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the door to the pigpen creaked open, and in walked a man straight out of a bad farmer stereotype. Straw hat? Check. Dirty overalls? Double check. Dead look in his eyes like he's just waiting for retirement? Triple check.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

He walked over with a sack of slop and started scattering it around, not even giving me a second glance. I stood there, dumbfounded, trying to process this whole situation.

And then I heard it. The words that would change everything.

"Alright, piggies! Enjoy your last meal, 'cause tomorrow morning, it's *slaughterhouse* time!"

Wait. What?

Hold up. Did he just say *slaughterhouse*?

"Nope. Nope, nope, nope," I muttered—or tried to, but, surprise, more oinks. "This can't be happening. I just got here!"

I mean, seriously! I've been a pig for, what, 10 minutes, and I'm already on the fast track to becoming bacon? Who reincarnates someone as a pig with *this* short of a life span?! At least give me a training montage or some magical pig powers or *something*!

I looked around at the other pigs, expecting to see some panic, maybe even a revolution brewing. But no, they just kept munching on the slop like it was no big deal.

"What is wrong with you all?!" I squealed. "Do you not care? Are we just *okay* with being turned into pork chops?"

The pigs just blinked at me. One even yawned. *Lazy jerks*.

Okay, fine. If they weren't going to panic, I guess I'd have to do it myself. And panic, I did. I dashed around the pen, my tiny legs working overtime, desperately trying to find an escape route. There had to be some way out of here! I couldn't let my life end like this. Not after getting hit by *Truck-kun* and being dumped into a body that has a one-way ticket to the butcher.

But let me tell you something about pigpens—they're surprisingly well-designed to keep pigs *in*. Who knew? There were fences everywhere, gates that were locked tighter than a bank vault, and no way my short, stubby legs were jumping over anything taller than a daisy.

I was screwed.

Just as I was about to give up and accept my tragic fate, the farmer wandered over again, giving me a casual glance. He scratched his chin and said, "You look like a feisty one. Better keep an eye on you. Don't need you pulling any tricks before tomorrow."

I glared at him. Oh, I was *feisty*, alright. If I could just figure out how to open a gate with hooves, he'd see exactly how feisty I could be.

But for now, I was stuck, plotting my escape while dodging other pigs and their total lack of urgency. My mind raced. I had less than 24 hours to figure this out before I became someone's breakfast.

But, hey, no pressure, right?

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And so begins my journey to avoid the dinner table, one oink at a time. Wish me luck—I'm gonna need it.

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