A great day to y’all..in the little way I can, I try to afford some talented people an opportunity to express themselves on here. I’m sorry if you came expecting to read something from me. Let me just say that each week (sundays most likely), I’ll feature at least ONE guest blogger…Today, a lady. Her handle is @mohmahmee.
Before I start this piece,I should inform you first hand that I’m NOT a WRITER. I’m too lazy for that. In as much as I have a lot of deep thoughts dancing in my head begging for release with a pen, I’d like to leave them that way.
So I managed…..eventually to get off my lazy butt and write something, anything. My motivation being that my handwriting is taking the downward spiral…..quickly too. I mean who wears glasses to read their own handwriting please!!?!?
So I decided to write a story about an experience I had with a chicken. Ok that was the cue to slam your phone in disappointment.
*tales by moonlight story mode activated*(change outfit to wrapper tied around my neck. oh wait that’s for boys right?what d hell,I make anything look sexy..heehee)
This is a scarring story with scenes of animal violence and blood. The faint hearted can back out now. I almost passed out when it happened so I won’t judge. Well, then again I was 10 so I might still judge…..
Okay,so the time was christmas. The day was actually christmas eve.
All the murderers had gone out and by murderers I mean my mum and my aunt.
My mum had gone out to do last minute shopping and my aunt had gone to make her hair.
My mum had assigned ‘christmas’ chores to me and my sister. You know those chores that your mother subtly threatens you with and makes it look like christmas was hanging by dat one chore and if you didn’t do it,christmas might actually not ‘hold’ dat year?…..yea those chores.
We had finished them and because my 10yr old girl memory is failing me at the moment and I don’t recall everything,I’d say knowing how vain my sister is, she was probably trying on her christmas dress for the umpteenth time and rehearsing her grand entrance into the church in my parents room and me,well I was devising a means to eating everything and not getting full fast(what!!cut me some slack mehn, I was 10. My apologies if I wasn’t reeking of spirituality and sober reflection on the ‘true meaning’ of christmas).
My dad called us. I imagine the tone of his voice would have automatically distorted my delicious reverie as I jump down from my double bunk bed(best believe I still sleep in that bed till now. No,I’m not shitting you)
His next words begin our scarring story. “Get that hot water,grab a basin and knife, we’re going to kill the christmas chicken”
You’re probably thinking what can possibly go wrong? A coupla kids under the adult supervision of their dad killing the chicken for christmas. If anything, this should be cute.
Yea, it would be cute and all…till you know the ‘killing team’
My dad is a loving,caring,dedicated man…….yea and he’s also a WUSS!
He never participates in any killing of any sort. Rats always had a field day with him around. However, he will be more than happy to motivate whoever is willing to do the honours with words of encouragement and the exact location of the rat.
Everything like the character ‘my dad’ except the fact that I don’t kill and I don’t even watch. I just sit in the corner with my feet up and scream and sometimes break into an uncontrollable fit of inexplicable tears.
My younger sister
Yea so you now see why this was a wrong idea. I was about to look at my sister and tell her with my eyes how this was such a terrible idea just to see she was as happy as a reindeer and my dad was her santa. My dad just looked at me with a look that said: “fear fear girl,my friend grow some balls”. Well, I did say it was a look. We do a lot of ‘looks’ in my family
My dad boldly went into the store to get the chicken. We followed. He bent to pick the chicken, the chicken freaked,my dad backed out. He nervously smiled and said was: “Ahn ahn,this chicken is quite strong oo”. I gave him a look that said: “seriously, strong? There’s no other word in d world. You weigh an entire forest of chickens and this one is suddenly the king spartan of their tribe!”. “Take it downstairs” my dad said.
We went downstairs and my sister was already set with the knife and the chicken. I was with the basin and the hot water.
He held the chicken down, my sister assisted not because she was asked to, just because she could almost see herself gisting my mum excitedly on how she had earned her place as a ‘killer’ too. All the while,she still had that silly gleam in her eyes. Me, well I was making sure my safe running space was clear at all times.
Infact now that I think about it,I don’t even know why I was summoned on this wife-impressing mission. I was just as useful as the basin in the whole frenzy!
Now,the rest of the events that occur from this point is a blur.
My dad poured a little hot water on the chicken,I think that was his ‘anaesthetic’ to weaken the chicken. My sister held it down. They both looked so serious like they knew what they were doing. Bollocks!!! I wasn’t falling for that bullshit. My running space was still clear.
My dad put the knife in its throat, but couldn’t quite hit the kill button. Chicken panicked. Blood splattered. My dad freaked and let it go. My sister freaked and let it go and well, that stupid gleam was finally gone. That was my cue to run for a diamond medal!
In a heartbeat, our chicken was running with a slightly cut neck out of the building.
My brain froze but in all the brain freeze there was still a little transmission that came into the walkie talkie “that’s our christmas chicken running out of the building! Over!!”
Now I wasn’t really afraid that if it ran out and mixed with other white chickens it would be lost forever and we wouldn’t know ours. I trusted that a particular ‘special’ chicken with a dangling neck would be hard to miss anyday. It was just that my dad, the person to save the day looked like he’d just seen a ghost . Once again I gave him a look “even if this thought for some weird reason crosses your mind ever again,don’t involve me EVER, we can bond with something else!”
My sister was already out chasing it. A guy that lived in my neighbourhood and knew us saw her chasing this ‘thing’ that closely resembled a chicken.
Poor guy,God bless his soul saved christmas by the friggin’ bell!
He picked the chicken with such expertise took it back in,killed it properly,even helped us take out the feathers. The scene looked familiar. OH YEA!! That was how the pros did it dammit!
Much later, the murderers came back, they all expressed their shock and demanded to know who the new ‘hit man’ was. My sister gave them an ‘education’ of the story,gesticulating at intervals.
My mum dryly turned to my dad finally and said “but, who sent you?” Then she broke down and started laughing.
Till this day, I always prefer we do frozen chicken. My mum says there’s a difference, I say YI-to-tha-fucking-MU! Frozen chicken any day mehn.
My dad still looks for stuff to bond with. Less life threatening events anyway..thankfully. Like watching super-story together. I rebelled by making him watch ‘friends’. Nowadays, we just sit and talk.
My hands are bleeding from writing all this and at the time of writing this,I’m making a mental note to buy that book from nursery school with red and blue lines for my handwriting
Thanks for reading and I’m grateful kelvin let me guest blog. please comment and go easy on me abeg, its my first time. Do share scarring experiences too.