Not the normal thing that occures on Sunday

  Our family, in some cases, is a lot like anyone else's family; after what occurred today you will most likely disagree with me. 
   Sundays is the day you or I would spend relaxing and preparing for the dreaded day tomorrow... but today was different. 

  Yesterday, my mother's partner had brought home some dead birds: pheasants and ducks. Dread was all over my face, I was not a happy bunny. I dislike handling anything dead or in pain. - Saying this, I wouldn't mind going along with him shooting for the day, mainly because I know I would never actually have the guts to shoot something or I would miss. - 
   Today, I was confronted by my mother. I was being forced into plucking the birds that he had brought home. My blood basically dropped from my head and was travelling towards my feet. I mean, how would you feel? 
    Getting pressured into touching the bird was one thing, pulling out the feathers was a step too far. After about an hour of complaining, I put on the radio and sang to it trying, to stop the thought of the bird in my hands appearing in my head. 
    After doing the job of plucking this poor, innocent, free bird I ran to the comforts of my bed. I barely lifted a muscle. - Yes, my bed is basically where I hide, in the depths of my covers is where I am and feel the safest.
   I feel traumatized after this experience. It's one I never want to go through or hope that any of you go through, if you react the same way as I do.
   This was not a normal Sunday experience.
~ Soph.