The supermarket buzzed with activity as more bovines strolled through the aisles, their conversations blending into the hum of background music and the occasional crackle of the intercom. In the meat section, the freezer doors opened and closed in steady rhythm as shoppers selected their dinner ingredients, each one unknowingly continuing Jeff’s posthumous journey.
A tall, muscular black bull strode into the meat aisle, his athletic jacket unzipped slightly to reveal the moisture-dampened fabric of the shirt beneath. His dark sweatpants clung to his powerful legs, the material slightly wrinkled from the hours of training he had endured earlier that day. Each step he took produced a faint squeak from his sneakers against the polished floor, a small, rhythmic sound that barely registered over the hum of the supermarket's overhead lights and distant chatter. His sharp, well-maintained horns gleamed under the fluorescent glow, and his short, black hair, stiff with gel, had been carefully styled into neat spikes.
The bull had only one goal: to grab a protein-packed dinner and head back to his apartment. His body ached from practice, his stomach growled with hunger, and he wasn’t in the mood to waste time. His eyes scanned the freezer shelves, swiftly narrowing in on the rows of prepackaged ground beef stacked neatly behind the cold glass. Without hesitation, he swung the freezer door open. A gust of icy air rushed out, sending a brief chill over his sweat-dampened fur and providing temporary relief from the lingering heat of his workout. He barely noticed, focused entirely on his task.
Reaching inside, he grabbed a random package of ground beef. He glanced at it for only a second before tossing it into his shopping basket with a dull thud. It landed on top of a loaf of bread, a block of cheese, and a carton of eggs—ingredients that would come together to form an easy meal of manburger patties with a side of scrambled eggs. His mind had already skipped ahead, picturing the sizzle of meat hitting the pan, the savory scent filling his apartment, and the satisfaction of a meal well-earned after a long day.
The thought of where the meat came from never even crossed his mind. The red, neatly ground flesh inside the plastic packaging had once belonged to a human named Jeff, the very being whose fateful decisions had ensured the dominance of bovinekind. But to the black bull, it was nothing more than a convenient source of protein. With a satisfied nod, he turned on his heel and made his way toward the checkout, already mentally preparing for the first delicious bite.
Not far away, an older cow with gray-speckled fur navigated the aisle, pushing a half-filled cart in front of her. She wore a cozy gray sweater, the soft knit hugging her form comfortably, while beige slacks completed her look with an air of casual sophistication. She moved with an unhurried grace, her posture straight but relaxed, embodying the warmth of a seasoned matriarch.
In the calf seat of the cart sat her granddaughter, a tiny, energetic young heifer with bouncing curls of brown hair. Her small horns had only just begun to sprout, peeking out from beneath the soft waves. Dressed in a glittery white shirt adorned with tiny silver stars, pink jeans, and matching pink sneakers, she radiated youthful enthusiasm. Her legs kicked back and forth as she rocked slightly in her seat, hands gripping the cart’s handle as if she were steering it herself.
“Grandma, can we have spaghetti tonight?” the calf asked, her bright eyes wide with excitement.
The grandmother chuckled, a deep, comforting sound as she reached up to scratch an itch near the base of her horn. “Of course, sweetie. Let’s see…”
She stopped in front of the freezer, its glass doors slightly fogged from the chill inside. With a practiced motion, she pulled one open, releasing a wave of cool air into the warm aisle. Her hand hovered over the stacks of ground beef, her fingers lightly brushing against the tightly wrapped packages as she searched for the freshest one. After a moment of consideration, she selected one and placed it carefully into the cart beside a box of spaghetti noodles and a jar of rich tomato sauce.
“Meatballs sound good, don’t they?” she asked, her warm smile directed at the calf.
“Yay! Meatballs!” the young heifer squealed, clapping her hands together in delight. Her tail swished behind her, too excited to sit still.
For the grandmother, the package of ground beef was nothing more than a key ingredient in a meal—a comforting, home-cooked dinner that would fill the bellies of her loved ones. She had no way of knowing that the meat she had just chosen had once been a man named Jeff, whose life had come to an end long before it reached her shopping cart. His existence had long been erased, reduced to neatly packed portions of sustenance for the thriving bovine race.
Unaware of the history behind their dinner, the grandmother and her granddaughter continued their shopping trip, pushing the cart forward as the little heifer happily swung her legs, already dreaming of the delicious meal to come.
As they walked, a solitary brown bull passed by with steady purpose, his polished loafers clicking softly against the gleaming tile floor. His dark suit jacket, tailored to fit his broad frame, remained buttoned despite the casual setting, and his slacks maintained sharp creases that spoke to his meticulous nature. His fur, a deep, rich brown, was well-groomed, and his neatly styled horns reflected the overhead lights as he moved.
He came to a stop before the freezer section, standing motionless for a moment as he surveyed the selection. His expression remained calm, his dark eyes scanning the neat rows of prepackaged meat with quiet deliberation. The long hours at the office had left him drained, but tonight was important. His pregnant wife had been exhausted lately, struggling with the discomforts of carrying their unborn calf, and he wanted to do something special for her. A home-cooked meal, something warm and hearty, felt like the perfect way to help her unwind.
Reaching out, he pulled open the freezer door, allowing a gust of icy air to brush over his face. He scanned the stacks of ground beef, choosing a package with care before placing it in his basket. It nestled beside a freshly baked baguette and a wedge of creamy brie, the foundation of a rich, homemade lasagna that would fill their home with comforting aromas. He could already picture the scene: his wife resting on the couch, a soft blanket draped over her legs, while he prepared dinner, filling her plate with a dish made just for her.
A quiet satisfaction settled in his chest as he turned and strode toward the checkout. He never paused to consider the true origin of the meat he carried, nor did he dwell on the fact that it had once belonged to a man named Jeff. To him, it was nothing more than an ingredient, a simple means to bring warmth and comfort to the one he loved.
Elsewhere in the store, a lively trio of college-aged cows strolled down the main aisle, their conversation punctuated by bursts of laughter. Their shopping trip had turned into a friendly debate, each one tossing out dinner suggestions only to be met with playful objections.
“We should make pizza,” one proposed, tossing her pink-dyed hair over her shoulder. Her white fur, speckled with brown spots, peeked out from beneath the sleeves of her oversized white sweatshirt. The distressed rips in her blue jeans exposed glimpses of her legs, while her well-worn white sneakers scuffed lightly against the floor as she walked.
“Nah, we always do pizza,” the second cow countered, shaking her head. She was a rich brown color from head to hoof, her dark fur contrasting with the oversized hoodie she wore. Her dark leggings stretched comfortably over her legs, and her white sneakers, nearly identical to her friend’s, made no noise as she moved. As she nodded in thought, the small silver earrings in her ears jingled softly.
“What about tacos?” the first cow suggested, her expression brightening as she brushed another strand of pink hair from her horn.
“Ooh, yeah, tacos sound good,” the second cow agreed, grinning.
The third cow, a striking white with black spots, gave a nod of approval as she turned down the aisle leading to the freezer section. She adjusted the shopping basket on her hip, the weight balanced effortlessly as she led the way. Her purple shirt hugged her figure stylishly, accentuated by the soft designer scarf draped around her neck. Black leggings stretched down to her knees, where they disappeared into a pair of brown leather boots.
“This’ll do,” she said, pulling open the freezer door and grabbing a package of ground beef. Without giving it a second glance, she tossed it into the basket alongside taco shells, shredded cheese, and a jar of salsa.
“Perfect,” the first cow said with a grin. “Let’s grab some margarita mix and head back.”
The three of them moved on, their laughter and chatter filling the aisle as they planned their evening. None of them gave any thought to the meat they had just selected. They did not wonder where it had come from, nor did they consider the life it had once belonged to. To them, it was nothing more than a key ingredient in their night of fun—a simple, delicious addition to an evening shared with friends.
Jeff’s journey continued, his remnants scattered across countless lives and meals. Each package of ground beef carried a piece of the man who had unwittingly reshaped the world, now reduced to sustenance for the bovines who thrived in his absence. The supermarket shelves would soon be restocked, and the cycle would begin anew, endlessly feeding a world that no longer remembered its human past.