Harry VS A Haddock

As I looked down at my plate on Monday 28th November, I knew that night would end badly.

Lying there, looking like something I might expect to see if I had taken LSD, was that thing. It was slimy. It smelled. And if I had no idea what it was, I would have found the nearest stick and poked it from a distance to make sure it wasn’t a threat

That’s right. I talk of the dreaded fish. Or a haddock, in this instance.

“Fish is good for you” had said my mother the week before my ordeal. “It’s healthy” added my dad. Now, two days later, I think I am beginning to wonder if my parents mental state’s were entirely sound when they made these statements. Although I know for a fact that if I go through another trauma such as the one I experienced that Monday night, you will be seeing me in a padded cell very soon.

So there I sat, looking down at my opponent. I tried to calm my breathing, Taking gentle gulps of air to calm my nerves. It was then that a voice inside me said “Do it.”

I obliged.

My initial reaction was that of a man who has been shot: A strange numbness went over my body, and time seemed to slow. It felt strangely peaceful. But then it hit me, like a cricket bat to the kneecaps.

The taste…

5 minutes later I was swallowing as many chicken tenders as possible to mask the taste of damp, moldy sponge in my mouth. But no matter how much chicken I ate, the taste clung to me for the rest of the night…

The bottom line? Fish are disgusting and evil. Do NOT trust them.



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