It would seem in light of our treatment by our captors, that we have lost our humanity.
They tell us over and over that we are dogs. They kick us, like dogs. They shoot us like dogs. And up until now, we have been all too willing to play the role of a dog. We cower and lick their boots, in the hopes that they will spare us their abuse. But I have news for you, they aren’t going to spare any of us, we’re all going to be killed and thrown in a ditch.
They have a gruesome death in store for every single one of us. And in the meantime, we are all willing to starve like dogs. They want us to be dogs, fine, we play the part of dogs one way or another. But there’s more than one kind of dog. We don’t have to be domesticated hounds.
The wolf hunts. The wolf eats her fill. The wolf strikes fear into those who attempt to cage her. The wolf wins her freedom thus. The wolf does not obey commands, sit, stay, roll over, no! The wolf has no owner.
The wolf hunts in a pack with her sisters, and through cunning, teamwork, and brutality, wins her dinner.
We starve every day, coming closer to our death, while a feast that wears a uniform prods us with the tip of a gun, and presses our face into the mud with a boot. If we are bitches, let us be wolves. And let our oppressors be the pigs they are.
Tonight we shall feast on pork flesh.
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