i'm not a murderer

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
confession of a man who financed serial killing

Submitted: February 06, 2016

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Submitted: February 06, 2016

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I’m not a murderer, I don’t like the sight of blood. Others do the murdering for me. Murder is very normal where I live. The first time a person commits a murder no one has to tell him he did something wrong, his conscious will. Blood still dripping from the knife, the lifeless body going cold on the floor, robbed from its miracle. 
But the assassins that do the murdering for me are far past being emotional. They are routined, trained and experienced. It’s just a job to them, a livelihood, they don’t know any better. They don’t count anymore, they don’t collect ears either and neither do they live in hiding. 
My parents thought me how to eat meat. In the western world meat comes from the supermarket, neatly packed in plastic, fresh and pink with no bones, blood or skin or anything else that could remind us of its true origin. Piglet is Winnie the Pooh's best friend, Miss Piggy is in love with Kermit the frog and bacon comes from the supermarket. 
But in the Philippines that’s different. My neighbor owns a piggery. Sometimes I pass his place during my morning run then I like to play with the piglets, they are cute and funny like puppy dogs with the difference that they are pink with a bigger nose, less hair and a curling tail. 
My neighbor is also not a murderer, but his cousin a mile up the road is. Every so often he ties a full grown pig on the back of his motorbike; this is not so easy and requires a lot of string. When a pig gets tied on the back of a motorbike per definition it will scream, if tied against the exhaust pipe it will scream a little louder. 
I still eat meat, but since I live in the Philippines I feel more guilty about it. Almost daily I witness one or another kind of animal cruelty that in all honestly I finance every time I buy meat.
Sometimes weeks go by that I don’t eat meat. I don’t miss it, but sometimes when there is no vegetarian food around I get hungry. Then once again I conveniently forget and ignorantly decide that someone has to die so I can have a little snack.
Yet I'm not a murderer.


© Copyright 2020 Jeroen Elout. All rights reserved.

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