By Sean C. Wright-Neeley
“Hurry up, Elsie! Your breakfast is getting cold!”
“Coming!” the girl hollered back. She scurried out of her room with her backpack in tow. She wore a tee-shirt that said “MEAT IS MURDER,” a pair of distressed jeans, and a large bell around her neck. Elsie deposited her backpack on the couch, and sat down at the table. She wrinkled her nose at the food before her. “I’m not eating that,” Elsie bleated, pointing to the eggs, “and I’m definitely not drinking that,” she said, gesturing to the milk. Her mother sighed, and threw up her hands. Her father snorted and scowled, shoveled in a forkful of eggs. “All right then. Just eat the toast. Give the eggs to your father, and the milk to your brother.” Elsie kept her head down, as she nibbled the bread, sans butter. Her little brother gulped the milk without coming up for air.
Elsie headed towards the bus stop. She passed Hooman Beans Farm on the way. There was a fenced pasture where the creatures ate from troughs. They glanced miserably at her, every time she passed. There were rumors that the creatures had been able to speak once, but their vocal cords had been cut for centuries. Evolutionary played on that until they were finally just born without them.
Once, she stopped, and a sad, mute creature ambled towards her. Elsie had stuck her hand through the chain links, and stroked its head. It seemed to speak with its eyes. Eyes that said, “help me.”
A female. The thing had looked down woefully at her pendulous bosom, and stumbled away. The hormones the farm routinely injected into the females gave them swollen teats that weren’t milked until they were about to burst. Elsie couldn’t imagine someone hooking them up to a machine to milk them over and over. It must be a nightmare that never ended. The females’ unfertilized eggs were collected, too, and eaten. Her mother had tried to feed her a plate of those scrambled things this morning. Ugh.
If the creatures themselves weren’t used for milk or eggs, then they were eaten. Steaks, ground meat, ribs. Sometimes even their young were eaten. That delicacy was called veal. Elsie shuddered. She looked at the creatures in the pasture while shifting her weight on her pink-painted hooves. “This is so wrong, and disgusting. I wish I could help,” Elsie whispered to the creatures in the pasture. Creatures with naked skins – in colors of white, black, brown, yellow, and red – and no fur, except on their heads.
Her father had told her that humans would eat cows if they had the chance; eat their unborn children from another species (eggs), children (veal), and drink their mammary fluid (milk). “No way, dad,” Elsie had replied, “hooman beans are the gentlest creatures I know. They would never.” Her father had smirked.
Elsie turned away on unsteady hooves, and trudged towards the bus stop, wondering if there was even a chance that her father might be right about hooman beans. Couldn’t be. No one would be as cruel to us, as we are to them.Again, Elsie firmly committed herself to avoid dining on their flesh and their byproducts. Consuming grass and bread was the only way for her to fight back for now. Elsie threw her head back, and let loose a battle cry; a loud, yodeling moo.
I’m pleased to announce the release of my 8th book, Skoll’s Diary.
Africans and African Americans left Earth in 1900, and went to another planet in The Milky Way to escape mistreatment…
It’s now the year 3005 on that terraformed planet. We get a peek into the life of a bright and sensitive teenaged boy, Skoll, through his journal. He loves his world, but is curious about life on Earth. Then suddenly, an epic event casts him in the middle of a difficult decision. The fate of the planet’s community is in his hands.
Get the book here. I’d appreciate your leaving a review if you read it. Thanks in advance!