Train Journey
I must be claustrophobic you think. Nobody else seems quite as bothered as you. It’s obvious they’re not exactly comfortable but the urge to push past everyone else and get out into open air and space is starting to take over your composure. You sigh a deep sigh as if you are trying to catch the air into your lungs while it’s still there. You look down at your son who is sleeping contentedly, blissfully unaware of the angst that surrounds him. He sighs in his sleep and you close your eyes as you can smell his sweet, fruity breath. You’re one of the few on the train with a toddler. You notice the lady next to you is heavily pregnant, ‘how long now?’ You smile at her politely as you ask her. ‘About a month to go,’ the lady grimaces, ‘any tips?’
‘Wherever you can get sleep, grab it!’ You both chuckle.
The train jolts quickly, throwing everyone forward in a great, startled heap. For most there is nothing to hold on to and you all keep on falling when the train comes to an abrupt hault. The occasional shocked squeals followed by the thuds of bodies falling into each other are some of the few noises to break the silence. If anyone does speak, you suddenly have an audience of about one hundred others which would be particularly embarrassing as everyone is far too irritable to start talking fluffy, light conversation. Every now and again someone quietly scratches frustrated, angry noises into the already troubled atmosphere, hoping nobody notices.
There are no windows on the train; just a few narrow slits at the top. You peer through, trying to catch glimpses of the outdoors for some form of recognisable landscape but the train is going at such speed, the landscape moulds into a mixture of browns, greens and yellows, whizzing by.
You suddenly notice two women looking at you as they seem to be sharing some intense gossip; their eyes are shifting from you to your son. They both look away once they realise they are being watched.
The train finally stops at its destination much to everybodys’ great relief. You all cautiously step off the train. Men in official looking clothes stand awaiting your arrival. Your son has been woken up by the jolt of the train but unlike most toddlers, this doesn’t cause him to cry. He slowly comes to terms with the world so different from his previous dream. You cuddle him close so he feels safe and queue with everyone else. You pass the necessary documents to a man who briefly glances over you and your son with a seemingly blank expression. He shouts something in a foreign language to one of his colleagues who obediently escorts you both away from the crowd of fellow passengers. ‘I-is something wrong?’ You ask, trying to conceal the panic at the sudden separation. The man doesn’t answer and continues to look ahead.
Suddenly, all the light from your world vanishes in an instant. Nothing but darkness. But your eyes are open. You feel something tight around your neck. Something rough scrapes over your hair. You reach out. You call for your son. You hear him whimper. ‘Sweetie, it’s OK. It’s fine. I’m right here,’ you reassure him. Then, voices. Foreign voices. You can’t understand what they are saying but the tone is very commanding and forthright. You feel hands pushing your back. A stick is poked sharply into the side of your stomach. You move forward. You can hear your son next to you. Crying. You reach for him to comfort him but some hands intervene and push you away. With one last final huge push, you land into even more darkness. At least before some light was able to get through the tiny holes in the bag over your head but now you know you’re in a place of total darkness. The bag is removed from your head and you immediately look for your son. He’s not there. He’s been taken from you. As the man starts to make his way through the door, you lunge for the door before he can lock it. The man holds you down as you struggle, ‘Where is my son? What’ve you done with my son?’ You demand. He doesn’t answer but continues to hold you down. Another man approaches you and injects you straight into the neck. As your world fades into darkness, you helplessly watch as two shadows make their way for the door. This is followed by an awkwardly squealing bolt edging its way back into its lock. You’re trapped.
It takes a while for your eyes to adjust as you begin to wake. Your eyes dart around the room. There are so many of you packed into this prison. You recognise some of the faces from the train. Your eyes met with other eyes that merely glance back and then dart back to the floor. Some of your cellmates are in groups and others are alone, littering the outskirts of the groups.
As the fear bubbles inside you like a volcano about to erupt, you know you have to suppress it. If you can stay calm, you can think straight and all will be fine. It must be some mistake. You just need to find a guard. Explain. Next time he comes in you’ll tell him and he’ll let you go. Then you can see your son again. It will all be fine.
There are so many of you crammed into this room it is almost as bad as the train journey. It’s hot and clammy and the air is so thick. You look round to see a panic-stricken lady, leaning against the wall, ‘I can’t breathe!’ she gasps.
You look at all the faces and speak to the first person to return your eye contact, ‘What the hell is this place?’
The lady looks back at you, shocked, ‘You mean you don’t know why you’re here?’
After days of being in the prison, the panic has lessened. That is until a guard comes in. The prison is so dark that the walls make a perfect canvas for the splashes of gold and white streaks of sunlight that struggle through tiny gaps and holes in the wall. It is almost too painful to be reminded of the beauty of sunlight and to gain even a glimpse of the outdoors. Sometimes, if nobody is looking, you close your eyes to hear the birds singing outside; if you let yourself, you can imagine you’re out there with them. Life before now was full of simple pleasures once taken for granted. Now your heart yo-yos from exhilaration to a deep sorrow at the very thought of them.
It stinks in here. Of piss, vomit, body odour. The smell is so strong, even the food soaks it up. But you’re all so desperate that you eat it anyway. These, however, are far from the worst things about the prison. The worst thing is the fear. It constantly watches over you like a loitering shadow. It’s not knowing why you’re here and never knowing what is going to happen next. The fear will usually sit with you quietly until the footsteps. As soon as you hear the footsteps of the main guard then the fear will accelerate up from your heart straight to her throat. You hate him. He has your world in his hands. Your boy in his hands. Your only fear and yet your only hope all tossed together in the package of a complacent, ignorant, unfeeling machine. He has broad shoulders, eyes like daggers that never stay on you for more than a second. If they ever do, he will quickly look away as if to deny to himself that you’re actually there. He never walks or runs; just plods everywhere. His loud, heavy footsteps are unable to make any variation of noise or movement. He never speaks to any of you, just barks commands in your general direction, grunting and snorting the rest of the time. He has a red, wrinkled face that looks like it’s made of wax which is now starting to melt.
You wake particularly early the next morning, unable to sleep through the banging outside. You try to peer through one of the holes in the wall to see what’s happening but can’t see anything. Suddenly the door is opened. Everyone huddles together and moves back as he approaches. He shouts something to one of his colleagues in a foreign language. Then he shouts commands to the cellmates. Nobody understands what he is saying. He shouts again and ushers you forward towards the door. One small group of girls slowly ventures towards the door as he hurries them along. Everyone else watches as they walk past him and through the door. They’ve made it. Gradually, everyone else follows.
As you make your way out of the door, you immediately feel the cool air sweep so gently past your face, greeting you like an old friend. You can’t help but close your eyes as if all your other senses need to close off so you can just concentrate on feeling the coolness. You get hurried along further. But it doesn’t matter. You are finally free. You look around you. Maybe your son has been freed too. Your thoughts are suddenly broken as you are ushered into the van with everyone else. Even the smell of diesel and oil from the cast-out vehicles fills you with excitement and pleasure; you appreciate anything that is different to the smells that have intruded your nostrils all those months before.
You look at the faces you have shared so much time with. How different they all look when they are happy and hopeful. Although you’ve barely spoken, you are united because you have all shared so much. When the van jolts to a stop you know you have arrived. You all move in a large, uneasy shuffle towards the building in front of you. It’s huge. You look for your son again. Can’t see him yet. But surely they wouldn’t let you leave without him. You hear a scream suddenly from the front of the crowd. Some try to run away but are sent back. Everyone stays close together, moving in a large huddle. Now you don’t feel like you’re walking. It feels like the adrenalin is causing you to float with the crowd. Suddenly a shot is heard from behind the crowd but everyone is too afraid to look round. Someone else starts to scream. You continue to walk forward.
Your heart racing, you desperately try to think of how you can get away. Others are still trying to make desperate dashes to escape and are forcefully dragged back into the group or taken away from the group completely if they are too persistent.
‘Please tell me, what’s going on?’ You ask a guard as he walks past. He flashes you a quick look and says nothing.
As you get into the building, you are ordered to stop. A guard hits you quickly and a searing pain suddenly overwhelms your head. As you try to recover, you look up and notice the lady you saw on the train. She’s no longer pregnant. She stares back at you, wild eyed and terrified, desperately gasping for air. That’s when you notice the blood dripping down her neck. She moans, just once, just slightly, so quietly. She’s dying slowly. Just like you will.
About This Story
Cows produce milk when they become pregnant just as humans do. Due to the high demand for milk, dairy cows will be impregnated several times during their lifetime. Male calves are seen as a by-product and are either killed immediately or raised as veal. Cows and their calves form strong bonds. When separated, females will call and bellow for days. Some even escape to search for their calf.
Once the female has served her purpose and no longer able to produce milk (usually about five years old), she is sent to the abattoir.