Maltreatment of the living

Imagine... You can feel pain but cannot express it. When the fire burns your skin, your slayers see not your pain, nor your suffering. Once a year they pluck your children, the fruit of all your labour, from your caring arms. You are chopped from limb, to limb and throughout this pain, not a single tear can trickle down your grotesquely disfigured face. Your senses alert as you feel your kin around you die under the merciless slaughter and yet, petrified, you cannot move. Gradually, you turn your head to see the sunset for one last time. You wait their, motionless, accepting the on coming fate. The knife of slaughter pierces the skin of your body. You scream out, helplessly, knowing no helping hand is will hear, as your body touches the earth and you pass into the void. I am of course, talking about the slaughter of plants.

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1. Maltreatment of the living

Imagine... You can feel pain but cannot express it. When the fire burns your skin, your slayers see not your pain, nor your suffering. Once a year they pluck your children, the fruit of all your labour, from your caring arms. You are chopped from limb, to limb and throughout this pain, not a single tear can trickle down your grotesquely disfigured face. Your senses alert as you feel your kin around you die under the merciless slaughter and yet, petrified, you cannot move. Gradually, you turn your head to see the sunset for one last time. You wait there, motionless, accepting the on coming fate. The knife of slaughter pierces the skin of your body. You scream out, helplessly, knowing no helping hand is will hear, as your body touches the earth and you pass into the void.  I am of course, talking about the slaughter of plants.

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