>>8572500Because meat is tasty and good.
There is nothing better in the spectrum of sating my hunger than knowing that some animal was living its little life, only for it to be snuffed out just to feed me.
The sizzling of their remains being heated to the perfect temperature is musical.
The little sounds of the knife sawing through the slab of meat on my plate is soothing to my soul.
The coppery tang of their blood is a delight to my tongue.
The tenderness of their flesh between my teeth fills me with joy.
The sensation of my stomach being filled is nearly overwhelming.
Their life sustains mine.
Their death prevents my own.
I see them on the farms and I mentally picture myself leading one of their number, innocent and unsuspecting, to the slaughterhouse. I feel the cold steel of the bolt-gun in my hand, the trigger at my fingertips, as I stare into their unknowing eyes whilst pressing the barrel to their forehead.
"Boom," I whisper in rapture as I activate the mechanism, hearing the full thump-crunch of their demise colliding with their skull. "Headshot."
The flash of the knife in the cold, antiseptic light.
The smell of their lifeblood, now useless, profaned, and discarded.
Their skin used to make articles of clothing and useful items, like holsters and sheathes and covers of books.
It is a heady tonic, one I take immeasurable glee in.
I imagine to myself, as I strike the head from the chicken, strip the scales from the fish, pull the piglet from its mother's teat, that perhaps this is what the conquerors of old felt as they led their armies through a broken city, observing the pillage, the execution of remnant forces, the destruction of the livelihoods of their defeated enemies.
And I clench my teeth against the laughter welling up inside me.
I look upon my plate, at the pieces of the mastered beast that I am set to devour with my two hands and the tools they wield.
And I call it good.
