Memories from Bosnia

When you socialize with death every day, you get used to its presence. Before long, you stop fearing death.

It is painful to witness an animal’s death struggle in front of your eyes. The only thing you can do is cry; cry over your own helplessness. It is cramping, with it’s eyes starring into your own eyes asking for mercy.
I feel doomed over not having the tools of either rescuing or killing the animal. My hands are just empty. I do not have the equipment for anything, not even a jeep were I can quickly transport the suffering animal to shorten its struggle.
Certainly no taxi will allow me to take the animal with me. The peoples’ religion says that if you bring an animal inside, no angels will ever come in.
The only power I have is to pray and walk away from the animal. Praying for a fast death for him. Praying for his soul. Praying that the madness will stop. The feelings of hopelessness and helplessness are killing me slowly and the more I get closer to God, the heavier the burden seems to rest on my shoulders.

To see a dead animal is not a comfortable sight but not as scary as to see the death solidifying its grasp on an animal’s still warm body. The anguish as its soul struggles to leave the carcass that moments before was its vessel. In my stomach I could feel the animal’s angst, worries, fears and horror. It is a terrifying picture I will carry with me for a long time.
I can even still smell the cloaked atmosphere of terror caused by the people’s cruelty. The sense of guilt is knocking on my shoulder.

We are all guilty if we turn away from anything breathing.