Soft and Tragic

Humans. Defined as an animal. The most dangerous, selfish and destructive creatures to ever seep through the cracks and chances of evolution. Defined by intelligence, as a superior animal, almost by inheritance, force-fed into the minds of children from stories as archaic as the Bible. The bible describing man as being ruler of the beasts, to use for our consumption etc.

I am no model citizen in this regard, before I could even walk I had my hand in killing baby chickens, by accident or on purpose I cannot remember. The death did not stop there, I was employed at a local Snake Park, and I was the assassin, the doom bringer, the fucking executioner of hundreds of mice, rats, chickens and rabbits.

Have you ever looked into the eyes of a chicken as you strangle the life out of it? I have, it never leaves you. The fear, panic and sometimes even pity that sentient being has for you. Such powerful creatures we are, yet we find the need to destroy those smaller than us. A chicken is not even thought of firstly as the creature, but as something on your plate, as the name for the food is the name of the beast. A chicken is actually very difficult to kill without beheading it. With your bare hands I never knew an animal that wanted to live more than a chicken. You could twist its head almost 360 degrees and it would fight, the head could pop off in a display of dread and even then the body would move and the eyes blink. Something so apparently insignificant to most, something that’s found on more plates than the wild, something that wants to live and fears death and pain like we do. The sound that comes out of its tortured throat is soft, and almost silent, the breath of tears from its little soul, the last effort to let the killer know, “please don’t kill me, I beg you”. We are too ruthless to care, and the chicken dies. Chickens are very strange little creatures, I noticed their favourite food is lettuce, of all the food types I would offer them in their short tortured environment that I tried to make as comfortable as possible, lettuce was always top of it all.

A harmless beast, that favour lettuce, that lets out a sound as you snuff out its life that fights for its life with all it has is only worth the bucket most of you associate it with.

Every Saturday was feeding day for the snakes. I would have to go to the back room where there was a 2 meter by 1 meter fish tank. Inside this tank were mice. Hundreds of mice, eating, sleeping and walking around as if dazed. I had to kill at least ten for the feeding coming up that afternoon. Choosing the ones that had just woken up, with their half asleep faces, squinting as my hand would pluck them up by the tails, and fingers behind the neck to pull the creature and break its neck. I soon realised the horror in this, the pain the creature must have felt, as they would not die as the neck broke, they would try and run dragging their heads still with the half-asleep look yet more horrific as blood would ooze and bubble out of its nostrils. I would knock them unconscious from now on.

Rats were harder to kill. The only way was smashing their heads on the floor and waiting for them to stop having seizures. To some employees it was a game, drop kicking the creatures against walls to kill them. The snakes were obviously the focus of the environment, but it did not excuse the behaviour of some employees and even the owner.

I lost all respect for the man, when one day a little brown and white patchy mouse had climbed out of its glass prison. The mouse ran at top speed upon its new found freedom and made his way between two glass fish tanks where the owner of the snake park and his curly hideous ponytail which grew out of his equally hideous head and face was standing. His beady eyes watched the mouse and as it went between the two glass tanks, the owner pushed them together crushing the mouse against the glass. The mouse exploded as if it were microwaved.

Rabbits were difficult to catch. They had created a maze of warrens. When one was caught, the scene was horrific. Have you ever heard a rabbit die, have you ever heard a rabbit suffer, tell me, have you ever heard a rabbit make a sound? Think about it, what sound does a rabbit make?

I can tell you. It makes a sound when its neck is being pressed against a brick and a rusty steel pole. The sound is ear piercing, high pitched and constant. It fucking destroys you. It scars your soul, like it has mine. The sound of each rabbit I systematically murdered in that fashion. All animals convulse as they die, in panic, in pain, they all bounce around trying to hold onto that last moment of life.

The lucky ones, were the rabbits with tumours. They were not visually appealing to the “public” when feeding a snake. So the young healthy ones were chosen, necks snapped, thrown on a pile with the others to die together, yet so very alone. A soft pile of death was all it was. Nothing more.

Yes the animals fed another animal. But they really had no chance at the hands of killing machines, like myself and the other employees. Especially as some, begged to be the killers, asked me if they could kill the mice, and rats and all the other doomed creatures. I would take any chance I could to not be responsible for the death.

We had to lie to the public, to shelter their poor feelings, lie that we gassed the mice, rats, rabbits and chickens. Just like you and me, are all lied to, lied to about the way animals are killed for consumption, and the growing need for consumption, of the ever growing population of humans, and lesser populations of animals. The brutal practices, are not humane, humane is not killing them in the first place. There is no humane way in killing a creature. There is only agony, and agony is what you are consuming when you take a bite out of that burger. When the food runs out, who will the human race turn to for food? Look in the mirror. You are one big piece of meat, and you will not be speared.