My father was born and raised in the small, rural area of Moncagua, El Salvador

He grew up with four other siblings and his parents on a plot of land in total equaling about 3 acres

During our visit to the country, my father and I had to collect a chicken for dinner that my grandmother had planned

The area where the chickens were kept was a quaint area. The coconut and cashew trees grew and were so beautiful

Flowers and wild vegetation bloomed under the scorching sun

The area was so peaceful that, on occasion, a duck flew by to sit in the trees near the chickens

The sun was harsh that day, like every other day in the Central American country, but the air was dry and the day seemed to come to a standstill

Despite the usual serenity of the mini-forest, when we came to collect dinner, in the chicken cage was an explosion of movement and horrible noises

My father froze and waited until the chickens settled down, and when they finally settled, in the middle of the cage was a single chicken, with its eyes, we noticed, dead and no longer circling around the inside of their socket

Its chest was shredded into pieces and its insides were visible. The once lively, spirited animal was still

I learned and grew that day. I could no longer see the world in such a naive way. Violence and beauty coexist as one on this Earth

The sunshine, the trees, and even the peaceful look of the dead chicken all contrast the

violence that occurred in that cage

Duty called, and within minutes the chicken was prepped for

dinner