Orwell was the largest of his tribe, head and shoulders above his brothers and sisters: he enjoyed the respect his size commanded.

In his formative years he had been more active than his brethren,, and took pleasure in charging around, not caring who he hurt or frightened. Physically dominating smaller, weaker children.

Orwell relished the morning sun as he lazily joined the days proceedings. Breakfast would be soon, giving him time to make the morning rounds. His cohort, Tabitha, walked at his heels.

To his right, the overly-verbose females clustered together in their immaculate white and brown finery.

To his left the no-brained fashion-victims gathered, their empty eyes assessing everyone's appearance.

Orwell was annoyed by their mockery and weakness: he took two heavy, threatening steps toward them: they gave ground quickly, disgust plain on their faces. He snorted, satisfied, and returned to his usual route.

Further along the main thoroughfare, a few of the field crews stood idly, occasionally letting loose their single baritone utterances before their like replied in kind.

The overseer was at the top of the pyramid. Taller even than Orwell: he commanded respect. It was he that provided the food, his were the instruments of pain, and it was his orders that were heeded.

Everyone feared the guards, the 'no-brains' said they even saw the guards rip the throat from an intruder. Orwell was glad he was not an intruder. He had never heard of them killing anyone else though. The overseer used them for protection and to maintain order. Orwell supposed this was true.

The others saw him and knew what their big brother would expect: they made space for him and waited. His little sister nearby tried to grab a morsel secretively but he caught the movement from the corner of his eye and moved in quickly.

The food was basic, improved slightly by occasional ingredients sometimes added by the overseer's people. Orwell ate his fill and relaxed, satisfied. He sat proudly with his kind as he surveyed the other workers.
After breakfast, he and Tabitha returned to their lengthy tour of the grounds to make sure all was well.

He didn't feel like stopping today, he felt like showing Ivor that he wouldn't be kept down, despite being trapped here. “No.”

It was exhilarating: to defy the guards so brazenly. He revelled in the brief moment of power, slowed and laughed at the guard “Hah! You're not so tough now ay?” he took a menacing step toward Ivor, who backed away with a snarl on his features.

Orwell took some pride in standing up to them. He knew he couldn't make the escape: (escape was impossible) he just liked to show that they had not broken his spirit. Perhaps it would even serve as an example to the others.

Now left alone at the gate himself he saw why: the children had sabotaged the mechanisms, allowing access to the world beyond. Perhaps someone had seen Orwell's example after all, he mused as he carefully pried the portal open.

With haste the pair ran to the woods, long grasses masking their sortie. Tall trees loomed before them, their cool shadows darkening as Orwell peered into the depths. It was strange to be surrounded so completely, unlike the low buildings and open sky of the plantation. Orwell's pace slowed at the forest edge.

Tabitha climbed, but could find nothing despite her better vantage point. Though Orwell did not see as well: his other senses more than made up for it, in his opinion. Before too long he exclaimed as he discovered the site of digging, and began unearthing the hidden prize.

As dusk settled and the day's last, vital-glow ebbed on the horizon, one of the overseers men came to fetch Orwell. He must have heard about the important discovery.

The guard left Orwell at the threshold to hall, a final urge onward before he left.The Overseer was with his tall friends, not even a guard was present. Orwell felt privileged.

Orwell had been the fattest pig on the farm, and would make excellent chops, gammon and bacon.