Dear Mrs Moo,
I’m sorry that I did it, but what else can I say?
I mean, how can I justify myself in this case?
I know that your milk was produced with the sole intention of seeing your calf through to existence but, you must understand, I too was in need at that time.
I was thirsty. I was dying. My mother, needing to exist herself, had abandoned me. I was nothing. And, being nothing, I had nothing. I had nothing, and there you were – just standing there. Just standing there in front of me, as sturdy as anything. Like me, you held yourself up on four legs (not like my mother, who only had two), and, like my mother, you had a small thing – a tiny version of yourself, surviving, not by itself (like me), but by you. By you!
I was incredulous. Such a small thing, by comparison with you, and yet so much bigger than me, just being there. Just being there, actually existing!
And then there was me. There I was, looking at you, and looking at that small thing – your small thing, and knowing. Knowing everything all at once. Knowing that it would make it, that it would survive, even exist, whereas I ..
I was nothing.
I am sorry, really I am. But, you see, I was jealous. I couldn’t help myself; I was only young, so small and so … nothing. And …
I was … so
Forgive me …
in this life, in this existence, I am
what I am.
Forgive me …
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, 5th September, 2019