Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Sorry by Madeline, age 10
This is how my mom kills chickens. She holds up the chicken and cuts its neck with a knife. The neck looks like a broken rubber band. She takes a dish and she grabs the chicken and all the blood comes out. She cooks the blood and it turns into a solid and it looks like jelly. She pulls all the feathers out and she cooks the chicken on the stove. When it’s finished we eat it. My sister likes it but I don’t. My mom tries to make me eat it, but I only pretend to eat it. I don’t really like meat because it is too hard to swallow.
This is how my mom kills turtles. She cuts off the shell, and gives it to me and my sister to play with. We pretend it’s a bowl and we pretend we are dolls drinking tea, but in real life we don’t really like tea. While we play with the shell my mom puts the turtle in a pot of boiling water on the stove. Sometimes I peek in the kitchen and look at what my mom is doing, but she tells me, “Go play.” When it’s finished, my sister grabs all the legs for herself because those are the best parts. I never want to eat it, but my mom says, “You have to eat it.” I swallow it without chewing.
This is how my mom kills fish. She scrapes the scales off the fish, and throws them in the garbage can. They sound like Rice Krispies popping when they land on each other. Then she puts the fish on a dish. Sometimes she boils it in soup and puts ginger and soy sauce on it. My sister likes it but not me.
This is how my mom kills ducks. She cuts the neck and squeezes it upside-down and the blood drops into the sink like red raindrops. Then she pulls the feathers off in little clumps. She boils it in a pot. My mom makes me eat this too even though I don’t like it.
About the Author
Hi! My name is Madeline. I am also the author of "Things I Don’t Believe in Anymore" and "I Hate My Life with You." I was in fourth grade when I wrote "Sorry" but now I'm in fifth. I have a younger sister and I live in San Francisco.