Release

Some Are Born In Darkness. Pt. 2

How do I make this beautiful?

I hesitate to write further, but I insist that I do.
I always hesitate before I write a tragedy, as the aching memories are tethered to my stream of thought, they will not escape unless I release them into writing. It's been an emotional time for me, more often than usual. The impulsive abusers behind their loving lies, the liars with honest eyes, the hypocrites with their fragile faces, and the innocence dying or being killed before me, in a darkness that was their birthright, without any chance of freedom. The only freedom or peace they will ever know, is death. Though they might not understand human concepts, I feel that they are born into confusion, being trampled over, to only find comfort laying down in a vacuum of heat that swirls a storm of ammonia. I've had my moments in such spaces, but I dare not to breathe for my own future's health. Even with a respirator, the odour of hundreds of lives in the small enclosure, cannot save you from a light momentary illness, headache, a runny nose, and a smell that stays within your nasal cavity for days. I work as a farm hand, mostly a gardener, but there are livestock on this property. I have a sentimental friend that I work with here, & one day she invited me to check out the hatchlings in the furthest part of the enclosure. The offer always stood, but I often didn't go, to save my lungs, and emotional state. She is also someone who cannot smell, so she has no reinforcement for the dangers of breathing in such odours. Though she doesn't seem to care. The encouragement of extreme sadness convinced me to join her one day, as I do like a good challenge. I grabbed the respirator, and smothered it over my face, and breathed normally. I walked to the back of the confines to find the incubator, with her peering into the hatched section, where what seems over one hundred babies running around, laying down, standing still in confusion as their fresh legs learn to stabilize their new existence. Though, to the left is where they are hatched, an incubator that flushes intense hot air to fertilize the eggs. Not to mention the quality of air in here would eventually kill you, and the intense heat made it a bit suffocating. They'll never know what fresh air feels like. I peer into the incubator to find little bodies dead along the edge, and some that are alive, but shaking and kicking vigorously due to their lack of. I picked one of them up, this ones neck extremely long compared to the others, nearly double in length. He doesn't have the strength to support himself up, and in a constant kicking motion, like a seizure of sorts, he does little circles as he kicks at the ground to his face, born struggling. I figure that he's been doing this since he hatched from his egg the day before. How could he possibly find time to rest, as the reflex never stopped. He feels broken, as he's caught in this repetitious motion with no justification that will help him survive, even when all of them are destined to be killed in just over 35 days, I couldn't bare to watch him struggle in this moment. I picked him up, and held him comfortably and in such a fashion where he wouldn't struggle. For his little head to peer out of my hand, and his body secured within my gentle fisted grip. As I hold him, I stare at my friend, and begin to cry, and cry, and cry. In this moment, she doesn't know exactly why I am crying, but she too feels the sorrow of being in here. The tears fall down my face, stopping where the respirator meets my skin. I stand there, holding him, falling deeper into spiralling thought, as if all flashing before me. During my holding of him, she sets free a little chick that has been dried to its shell, that I later believe was found dead the next day, due to the underdevelopment as the speed at which these creatures grow, is incredibly rapid and the first day seems to be what grossly determines their survival. Any slight complications hatching, or irregularities will most often result in a very early death. There was no chance for these little ones that we were attempting to bring justice to. My only wish was for mine to find a calmness, a world where he doesn't have to struggle and flail about, to be in peace during his final moments. Along with his own suffering, the conditions of his environment, which are standard or above standard for these kinds of situations, and their determined & inescapable death. I thought of myself as this little chick, struggling in the darkness. Why couldn't a large hand from the sky come and pick me up, and at least try to save me. At any moment, even now, to be taken away from all of this suffering and disgust that I have for the common man, and what he/she does to this wonderful planet, and all life, especially their own; they take advantage of everything, all life, even down to the most innocent and helpless creatures. I was once helpless, trapped in darkness, and cried just as I did then, to ease myself into a deep sadness, where only patience would save me momentarily, from a waterfall of tears, to an empty expression on my face, until there is a little less of me inside.