One day she gave birth to a baby. It wanted to snuggle up to its mother, but was not allowed to. They grabbed the little one, tossed it into a disc chest and took it away. It was a girl. So they put her in a box, just like the one in which she had to spend her first days, which she had just given birth. If it had been a boy, after a few days he would have been loaded onto a transporter and sent thousands of kilometers to his death. But she didn’t care, she just wanted her baby with her. With eyes wide with terror, she had to watch as it was snatched from her. It almost broke her heart. She didn’t understand. There was nothing to understand about it either.
Still not. The little one just wanted to drink. Lie with her. There was enough space. A horrific scream escaped her throat, a scream that expressed all the inner turmoil. Her baby replied, but those who took it away were adamant. Just a little milk, just a little space. The bursting breasts would have given enough, but they wanted everything from her, down to the last drop. Not a single sip for her baby. That had to be content with cheap milk replacer. And with loneliness. With abandonment. She screamed for days as her body grew emaciated. She was pumped out twice a day. She ate as much as she could, but it still seemed to be too little. It took too much strength for her body to produce this huge amount of milk. During the night she dreamed that she had built a nest for her little one, in which she tended it away from the others on the meadow for the first few days before she proudly presented it. Maybe next time. But the same thing happened next time. As with the next one and the next one. Then the day came when she couldn’t get pregnant anymore. She was drained and exhausted. Wrung out. Bleed to death. She was a pain. Everything about her was inflamed. Therefore, her body refused to give up any more. Now she lies here, sore and exhausted, waiting for the next morning, which will be her last, because she has nothing more to give. That’s why nobody needs them anymore. Still, she eats. An unnecessary cost factor.
Then, already caught in half asleep, she hears a faint flutter. A little feathered friend. She lies down with the big one. It will be the last night for them too. But she wants to spend this with her. Nobody knows how she always manages to escape her prison. But she succeeds. Two prisoners united in pain. A little comfort in the midst of desolation. A little togetherness in the midst of loneliness. Both close their eyes. Immediately after the birth she came onto a conveyor belt, the small, delicate one with the feathers, of which there were hardly any left, with many others. There they were separated. The usable in jail, the useless in the shredder. Optionally into the gas. As soon as it was big enough, it began to fill its nest. Every day. But the next morning it was empty again. So, she went on. Every single day, in the midst of all the others who stood so close to her that she could barely move. Don’t even stretch your wings. But she continued because she couldn’t help it. Little by little it consumed her. Their bones became brittle. Your body emaciated. Then suddenly it stopped. Now it is unusable. A disposable product. It is also loaded onto the transporter, unloaded and hung up. This will make it easier to cut her throat. Cut, cut, cut. Heads roll the way you screw toothpaste caps onto tubes. Factory work. Assembly line murder. On beat. In a chord. When their service is done, those who cut their throats go home. Henchman. What remains is a clean, freshly scrubbed hall, but the smell of death remains. He cannot be washed away. Especially not the fear and the tears. Just the blood. But now they lie, the two of them, united for the last time, dawning towards the morning that will be their last.