I told them to stay still

I told them to stay still, although they could not hear me.

I told them "don't move, you'll be hurt," although I knew they could not feel pain.

I hated doing it, please understand. I didn't want to, I didn't feel right about it. On some level, I knew it was wrong and I hated myself for it, I still do. But I had to do it.

I had to.

And as I laid them back across the table with their heads hanging so they could drain, as I collected the cups full I needed, and arranged them just as the book said to, I tried not to look into their faces. I tried not to see them as beings, but as tools, as uses to an end. A very worthy end. I tried to honor them. I hope they know that.

I painted the symbol on my forehead. I sat down in front of the other plants, dust, ash, and stone. I closed my eyes and said the words I had memorized over and over, so I would make no mistakes. But when I closed my eyes I could still see them, as if they were watching me.

I can still see them.

The way they looked so afraid near the end of it. They were so afraid.







But I am not afraid.