36 Hours Without Water | Draw My Life
Source Bite Size Vegan
Today I am born.
In three days parts of me will be cut off.
In six months I’ll be dead.
On my way to meet my killers, I’ll travel with my family for 36 hours without water.
Some of us will die in the heat before we arrive. Die too early to be killed.
Have you ever been thirsty?
I’m hungry. I’m trying to get to my mother for milk. We all are.
My brothers and sisters all trying to eat. There isn’t much room. The bars get in the way.
Momma can’t move much but she sings to us while we eat. That’s my favorite, when she sings.
At night my brothers and sisters try to get as close to her as we can but we can’t reach her. We huddle together. The red light keeps us warm. But it’s not Momma.
Day three and it happens. They come. They grab my brother first and I hear him scream. Four times he screams. Loud and sharp.
I try to hide. We all do. But there’s nowhere to go. Then the Cutter grabs me and it happens.
A loud noise and my ear is on fire.
Something cold it in my mouth and I hear a crunch. My teeth are shorter.
I scream around the cold thing.
Then I’m upside down and feel my tail break.
Then the worst pain I’ve ever felt. Something between my legs is ripped from me.
I scream until my voice breaks.
Two weeks later and Momma’s gone. Our food is hard and dry. No more milk. No more singing. No more Momma.
I’m six months old. I feel older. I’m tired and hot. My body aches and I’m dirty. We all are.
The Cutters come and it’s time. Suddenly, light. And they’re pushing us towards it. Pushing and kicking. Screaming and hitting. We’re moving as fast as we can.
And then we stop. Because there’s nowhere to go. We’re tighter together than ever before. And it’s so hot.
Soon we’re panting, all of us, panting. We can’t get away from each other. It’s so hot.
And then we’re moving. Finally some air. But it’s not enough. I try to get closer to the air but there are too many of us. All of us trying.
I think of my Momma again. All of us trying to get to her milk. But there’s no singing here. Only panting. And groans. And cries. And it gets hotter.
It’s nighttime. The sun is gone and we can breathe more slowly.
I’m thirsty. We all are. We’re looking for water or food but there’s nothing.
I’ve made it to the edge and try to smell for any hint of water. Just a drop. Something. We’re dying.
It’s light again. I’m so tired. Too hot to sleep. And it’s getting hotter. All I hear is breathing.
But some of my brothers and sisters aren’t breathing. Not anymore.
We start moving again and I feel we’ve been in here for days. Skin upon skin. We’re so hot it burns when we touch. We’re all trying to get away from each other.
But there’s nowhere to go.
We’re stopping again. Stopping and starting. When we’re still it’s the worst. The heat. I can barely breath.
All I think of is water.
I can smell it, taste it, see it, feel it. Like it’s right there, pouring through the tiny openings that only deliver stale air.
But this time it feels so real. I can almost believe it. Then I hear them. Cutters outside. Cutters looking in. Cutters with water. Finally, water! Is it real?
They’re pouring in water and we’re trying to reach them. Most of us. Some aren’t moving at all.
I open my mouth and it’s cold and it’s real. It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever tasted.
And these Cutters aren’t screaming or kicking or hitting. They’re almost singing like Momma. Low and soft and kind.
One reaches in and pets my head.
The only time I’ve been touched and not hurt.
And then we’re moving. But not for long. We stop and then bright light and air. Finally, air!
The loud Cutters are back with their kicking and hitting. And something new. Something that shocks. Sharp pain.
And I wonder what’s next.
I can’t move. Even more than before. There’s nowhere to go.
Just a few of us in here but no room.
And then the burning. Something’s wrong.
Something’s always been wrong.
We’re moving and it burns. Everything burns. My eyes, my mouth, inside. I’m burning inside.
I’m thrashing and trying to escape. We all are.
And now I’m upside down. We’re all upside down. But I’m still moving. Why am I moving?
And then I see them. More Cutters. I’m moving and can’t stop. Then it comes. The last cut I feel. Sharp and deep and hot. And I’m bleeding. Everywhere I’m bleeding.
And then water. I hear water. Finally, water.
And then it happens. I’m dropped into the water and it’s fire. It’s boiling and red with blood. I’m on fire. I can’t breathe.
I think of the cold water and the Cutters who sang like Momma.
And I take my last drink.
This pig’s story is not an isolated incident. To see his story in real life footage, see the videos linked below. From the mutilation of baby pigs to their transport without food or water to the gas chamber and scalding bath, every word is reality. This is not just happening in some far away land.
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Want to do more than go vegan? Help others to do so! Click on the below for nominal, or no, fees to vegan literature that you can use to convince others that veganism is the only compassionate route to being an animal friend.
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You can hide from pictures
To words turn a deaf ear
But the heart is always
And the heart always
Karen Lyons Kalmenson