By Sachi Tyagi
As the sky begins to lighten in the early predawn light, I know.
Today is the day I die.
This is the last morning of my life.
My brothers and sisters are stirring beside me, the mothers trying to calm them. I single out four others with a glance — my comrades, both in life and death. They will water the earth with me today.
My human mother comes in, to check on us all and say her final goodbyes. She has raised us lovingly all my life, and has been nothing but kind. But today, she sends us to the slaughter.
From the first morning of my life, I knew I would die someday. But I never thought it would creep up on me so suddenly, like an ocean wave crashing upon me from behind.
(I have never seen the ocean. And now, I know I never will.)
As the moment approaches, my apprehension grows. We are all restless, butting heads and brushing against each other in our enclosure. Is this really the last time I will see them all?
And then, they arrive. The human comes with another, who picks me up gently, ever so gently. And as he carries me to my death, I am not afraid.
(But why do I scream?)
I see the mountain silhouetted against the lightening sky in the distance. The sun has almost risen, but I cannot see its rays. Will I die before seeing the sun for the final time? Still, I am not afraid.
(But what if I am?)
He carries me past the pasture of my youth, where the dew hangs heavy on the grass. Is this the last time I will walk these green fields? But still, I am not afraid.
(And yet, I scream louder.)
He brings me to a circle of people, singing softly, ready to witness and celebrate my death with respect. Are these the last people I will see? Still, I will not be afraid.
(But they loom over me, towering so tall.)
And as he cradles me in his arms, softly, with all the love in the world, I feel his heart, and their hearts, and feel their intention of peace and love and beauty and learning, and I-
I am afraid.
I do not want to lose my life. I want to sleep with my brothers and sisters. I want to graze the fields once more. I want to bask in the shadow of the mountain again. I want to greet more visitors. I want to feel the warmth of the sun on my face.
I do not want to die. I am afraid of my life ending.
And as he lays me down on the green grass — the beautiful, soft, living grass — I fight. I fight against the people holding me down, against the dewy grass, against my fear, against death itself. I am afraid. I am so afraid. I do not want my life — this precious life — to end.
As the blade comes closer to my neck — the instrument of my death — it glints in the first rays of the sun as they creep over the edge of the mountain.
And as the cold metal cuts deep, and my life flows to nourish the earth, I am no longer fearful.
I see the sun rise — feel its warmth — and I know I will be alright. My time here — in this beautiful, beautiful place — is ending, but my journey has just begun.
And I?
I am not afraid.