Unable to sleep
It just hit me. They are all dead. By now, in fact far before now, every single beautiful newborn baby, every tiny calf with velvety fur, ever tiny piglet with wrinkled noses, ever playful kid who suckled on my finger. The calves who lick and suckled my arms, my hands, my cheek, my jacket... are all dead.
Their crying mothers, their fearful siblings, and everyone around them. Are all dead. They have all been killed, along with thousands others and hundreds more arriving at that very stockyard and across the globe.
But just to have a hundred beings, hundreds of lives you knew, personalities you encountered, babies you comforted killed. To know that not one of them is alive. Not one survived, not even through their first day.
Just to realize that they are all dead... and I am supposed to sleep.
Their crying mothers, their fearful siblings, and everyone around them. Are all dead. They have all been killed, along with thousands others and hundreds more arriving at that very stockyard and across the globe.
But just to have a hundred beings, hundreds of lives you knew, personalities you encountered, babies you comforted killed. To know that not one of them is alive. Not one survived, not even through their first day.
Just to realize that they are all dead... and I am supposed to sleep.