Blog Assignment #6

Normally the winter seasons were a joyous time of year. There was Christmas decorating, and my birthday. Then there was Hanuka. Our family is half and half, so I get both. The beginning seven days were fun, especially because you get to light candles, but on the eighth day, things became sour. It was Uncle Marshle's turn to cook, which always ended in dissaster. Nothing was worse then his food, and we all knew it. Why we let him cook, no one knows. Everyone's stomache ached in dissapointment, knowing what kind of grotesque things that could come out of his kitchen. Six o'clock finally rolled around, all to soon, and we were all seated for dinner. Trays upon trays of either burnt or undercooked things came spilling out of the door, and onto the table, waiting for us to get sick on it.
Eyes travled from one another daring for a tester to the ugly meal. As it turns out, not even the cook would down his own food. Finally my grandfather started eating, his face scruntched up as if in pain. He swallowed it and shakily smiled, looking like he was going to be sick. Looks were traded as to weither the old man would drop dead any moment. After a minute of the man silently eating what was on his plate. A sour look etched into his features. Then across the table people started to eat. I finally decided to pop something pink, looking almost like meat, into my mouth. It was absolutely horrid! How anyone could keep this in their mouths for more then a second was beyond me?! The peice was crunchy yet tasted like it never hit the stove. Its flavors shouted in a disgusting contrast of fruit and death. The smell alone could knock anyone unconcious. It looked like roadkill that the butcher decided to take his anger out on, all mangled, not looking anything like anything.
I swallowed the awful thing down. It felt as if it were trying to climb back up my throat, almost alive. Then I reached for my water glass and swished it down. I looked around the table and saw everyone chugging down their liquor. I figured out the trick, unfortunetly I wasn't old enough to escape the fate of the numblingly disfigured food. IF it could be called that.