Lost Center

The sky is awake. The sun has risen. The birds always flutter to the west. But this day, something's new. I might not anymore see this sky again when I'm finally there. Even the sun. Also these black birds swaying in the air since I was four.
I always call the Center Camp 'there,' because it seems to me like going to the biggest slaughterhouse you don't know where.
I don't know where 'there' is.
But in 'there,' I know it will never be easy. It will never be good. It will never be clean. There is a place where everyone I know whose hands are clean will somehow be smeared with blood.
There is a place where I will face my deepest fear: to kill.