This truly is a secret!
I was terrified. Clinging to the railing of the ship for dear life as it tossed and rolled in the heavy seas, I looked around to make sure no-one could see me. This was not a place I was supposed to be in. Especially not in this weather. And especially not as an unsupervised seven year old.
My mouth was full of mush. I had rushed out of the dining room gagging. Why? Because I was eating pureed baby chickens. Or at least that’s what I had been told. We were travelling to Australia by ship. Just Mum and us three kids. I was (and still am) the baby of the family. Dad was already there. He’d gone ahead to see if it was worthwhile for us to join him from all the way across the other side of the world. It was. So here we were. Travelling with a whole bunch of other migrants. And a translator on board who was too busy flirting with the ship’s officers to do her job.
The menu was in English. None of us could speak, read or write it. Mum ordered the one thing she knew and had decided was good for us to eat. But the thought of little baby chickens being killed, cooked and mushed up for me to eat was overwhelmingly horrible. I was devastated. It made me feel ill. I couldn’t do it. So every dinner time I rushed on deck and threw up. Six weeks of having to pretend to eat mushed up baby chickens.
In hindsight I’m sure Mum eventually found out what I was doing because she started sneaking crackers and cheese from the dining room to our cabin for me to eat. But the baby chickens kept on appearing at dinner time.
I’m curious to hear what’s your secret?
Submitted to the Sandbox Challenge 21
© Raili Tanska