Write page three of your autobiography.
Dad was always doing something odd. I’ll never forget the time he brought that bag of blood home from the hospital. Mom was kind of freaked out but I was curious. He proceeded to give us an explanation about how human blood was healthy for plants. I didn’t buy it. I just figured it was some other wacky thing he came up with.
In the dining room we had a potted plant. It was right next to the chair that I usually sat in. We didn’t have assigned seating, but everyone was wont to choose the same chair at every meal. I always sat with my back to the wall. I’m pretty sure it was a subconscious thing; wanting to keep every escape route in sight.
Anyway Daddy-O (that’s what I called him) poured the bag of blood into the plant. The dirt and blood became bloody mud. I gagged a little. I couldn’t watch anymore, even though I was somewhat fascinated. I went outside to see what the other kids were doing.
That night at dinner I couldn’t stop staring at the plant. The plant with blood in it. I was afraid of it. I noticed some smeared blood on the side of the pot that had dried. I couldn’t finish dinner. I excused myself and went to my room.
Two days later, the plant was gone. My dad never brought home another bag of blood.
As strange as the blood in the plant incident was, it doesn’t even come close to being as bizarre as the time I was trapped on the school bus for 14 hours.
Categories: Daily Prompt