Animal Farm

Once, in the green valley of Windacre, there sat a peaceful farm ruled by Farmer Bell. Life was simple. The animals worked hard during the day and rested in the evening. Though the food was just enough to fill their bellies and the barn was cold in winter, the animals accepted their fate. They knew no other way.

But things changed the day Farmer Bell vanished. His truck disappeared over the hill, and he never returned. No one knew why, but the animals rejoiced. They were free.

Leading the excitement was a fiery red rooster named Crimson. Perched atop the barn, he called for a meeting. All the animals gathered—cows, sheep, pigs, goats, chickens, and even the old mule, Bramble.

“Friends!” Crimson crowed. “Our days of servitude are over. We no longer labor for the human hand. This farm belongs to us now. Together, we shall build a new world—The Roost Republic!”

Cheers echoed through the fields.

At first, things were wonderful. The animals agreed to share duties. The pigs were given the task of organizing food storage. The horses plowed the land. The chickens gathered eggs, and the goats repaired the fences. They painted a new slogan on the barn wall:

“All animals are equal.”

Crimson became their spokesperson. With his loud voice and early rising, he was naturally suited to deliver news and lead chants. By his side were two clever pigs—Orrin and Bliss—who acted as record-keepers and advisors.

Weeks passed, and the farm thrived. The animals worked with pride, believing they were building something fair and new. But slowly, things began to change.

Crimson, once humble, started wearing Farmer Bell’s old wristwatch around his neck like a medal. He moved into the farmhouse, claiming he needed a quiet place to plan. Orrin and Bliss joined him soon after.

When Bramble asked why they no longer worked in the fields, Crimson answered, “Leaders must think, not toil. It is for your own good.” The animals grumbled but said nothing.

Then came the rules.

First, the food was rationed. “To prevent waste,” said Orrin. But somehow, the pigs and Crimson always seemed well-fed.

Next, certain animals were rewarded more than others. The dogs received extra meat for “security efforts.” The sheep were praised for chanting Crimson’s slogans: “Crimson knows best! Crimson leads the rest!”

Even the barn slogan changed. One morning, Bramble noticed it now read:

“All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.”

He tried to speak out, but the dogs growled, and the sheep drowned him out with chants. Crimson called him an enemy of the Roost and sent him to tend the furthest fields alone.

As months passed, the seasons turned. Winter came, and food grew scarce. The chickens, growing thin and tired, asked why their eggs were being taken away. Bliss replied coldly, “To trade for grain from the neighboring farms. Leadership requires sacrifices.”

“But we are the ones sacrificing!” cried a hen named Peony.

That night, Peony disappeared. Some said she was sent to the wild woods. Others whispered she had been taken by the dogs. No one dared ask openly.

The animals worked harder, fed less, and spoke little. Crimson now held morning rallies where attendance was mandatory. His speeches were filled with praise for the Roost, warnings of outside threats, and reminders of how bad things were under Farmer Bell.

And yet, deep down, many animals began to wonder—was life truly better now?

Then one night, something unexpected happened. A young fox, sleek and sharp-eyed, snuck into the barnyard. His name was Ash, and he had been watching the farm from the forest.

“I’ve seen your leader,” he said softly to a group of animals huddled in the dark. “He is no better than the man you overthrew. You live in fear, not freedom.”

“But what can we do?” whispered a lamb. “The dogs patrol, and Crimson controls the food.”

Ash leaned forward. “Every regime stands only as long as its followers believe it must. You are many. He is few.”

The next morning, the animals refused to gather. They did not chant. They did not move.

Crimson screamed from the farmhouse porch, but his words fell on silent ears. The sheep did not bleat. The cows did not moo. The horses turned their backs.

When the dogs approached, even they hesitated. They saw in the animals’ eyes something new—not fear, but resolve.

By nightfall, Crimson was gone. Some say he fled. Others say Ash chased him into the forest. No one knows for sure.

In the days that followed, the animals met beneath the old oak tree, not the farmhouse. They erased the painted slogans and planted seeds where the porch once stood.

They created new rules—not based on equality alone, but fairness and memory. They built not just a farm, but a community. And above the barn door, they carved a new phrase:

“Never again shall one voice drown out all others.”