Heading towards the cattle truck, something caught my eye, something that got me thinking through the whole horrible ride. On the cattle truck it read, Eight horses or forty men. Even during the ride in the sticky and overcrowded conditions, my mind as always wondered off in its jungle and from the depth found the memory of the time where as a child, we owned horses. They always turned out to die, either in an accident or by a disease that wouldn't leave anyone alone till they die. I imagine if that will happen to us, as we're being valued down to the animals. It's still stuck, in one side of my brain, the memory of that terrible night, when I found my horse, Pony, lying dead with many holes of bullets inside her. The hunter ran off before we got to him/her. I cried for days with rage, and anger.
The reality hit me with its bad smell that stank like hell! With barely any windows or fresh air, everyone were squashed up against the walls, scarcely living any space between themselves and others. Before everyone's face were lit up with excitement and looked forward to the war, but now what's visible is, tired and worn out faces, licking their dried up lips due to being thirsty, as no one received water or food. It just seems as though they want to get up and run out of hell to free themselves like the birds in the sky. I can see their faces, looking down at us, laughing out and mocking us at this condition, while they are up and enjoying their flight back home. From where I was siting squashed, my eyes fell upon the wall smeared of blood which was left dried against the wall with a foul smell. I heard a sound of someone gargling out something so disgusting, that it almost smelled like the dried up blood against the wall. In front of my eyes came down flood of yellow puke, that's when I came to realize that it's my own.
Once we came to stop for a while, someone slid the doors open and rushed down the flock of birds and I, I was one of them.
