Fish. My parents love all types of fish. Some dishes my parents love for example are: fried fish, smoked salmon, butterfly cut fish, fish and chips, beer battered fish, and grilled fish. Everyone I am close to loves fish. My big sis loves fish, my grandma loves fish, my little sister loves fish, and my cousins love fish, but I absolutely HATE FISH. Ever since my mortal enemy, the fish, lodged itself in my throat I have had deep abhorrence for this creature. The slimy scales, the putrid odor, the awful taste, and the dull color of fish are just some of the factors that push me away. Fish have blessed my health, revolted my senses, and tortured my emotions.
The plane that these scaled beasts effect the most is my sensory plane. Effected senses are my burned sense of smell, my scolded sense of taste, and my incinerated sense of touch. I immediately smell the horrific odor before gazing upon one of these magical creatures of pain. This indescribable slab of colorless meat loves its home either on ice or on plate. On ice, this lovely creature dumps its smell into the air gassing the innocent bystanders that are forced to walk by. On plate, the smell is semi-covered by the roasted vegetables or heaped amounts of spice. Though the fish’s odor is covered by the cheap cologne of garnishes, the fish’s smell still cuts right through and burns my nostril’s flesh. This aroma gags me every time I catch a whiff, force choking my throat and causing acid reflux. The smell of fish is easily fought off with febreze or a gas-mask, the lingering taste of it is not. The taste of fish is disgusting: dull, flat palate, sour flavor, and tart. Sitting on the white plates the fish taunts me. My mouth turns to sawdust; my taste buds secrete the rotten taste of the scaly monster. Hearing the slap of fish on tables or the frying of fish in pan, can easily bring the taste of fish in back into my mouth. One can rid the taste of fish from mouth and throat with some food or drink; one cannot rid the feeling that occurs when your hand touches the slimy creature. Cleaning up after a dinner is not the most enjoyable time, but it is hell when fish is served. I am stuck tiding the leftovers of dinner and throwing away left over fish. The smell has subsided and I no longer taste fish in my dry mouth. Soapy water covers the white plate that once served the disgusting meal. My mortal enemies have vanished… or so I thought. I sweep my hand through the water trying to find the last item to wash. Something wet and slimy brushes my hand as if the devil is about to drag me to hell. I grab and bring the item out of the water. Scaly skin covers the drab flesh of the fish. The dull brown color of fish sits taunting me in my hand. I gag and throw the hunk of fish into the trash can, defeating my enemy once and for all. I hate my enemy not because my senses are revolted by the gross fish; I hate my mortal enemy because fish had once tried to kill me. …show more content…
Fish has destroyed me emotionally. I was naive and young at the time. My parents’ diet influenced me heavily. I was excited as they told me we were going to have a special dinner. Arctic Char butterflied with fried vegetables. The dinner sounded delicious and enchanting, a feast for a king. I set the table that night with high hopes, whilst my mother and father prepared the banquet. That night was going to be filled with memories: tasting the dinner, choking on dinner, and barfing up dinner. Satin white plates lined the table. The feast sat in the center of the table waiting on my mother to serve us. The sweet cologne of the vegetables filled the air around the table. The plates were served. The tasty meal pleased my eyes. The Arctic Char divided the plate between the vegetables and potatoes. With the fork and knife held tightly in my hands I dived into my meal. The buttery potatoes were the first
The plane that these scaled beasts effect the most is my sensory plane. Effected senses are my burned sense of smell, my scolded sense of taste, and my incinerated sense of touch. I immediately smell the horrific odor before gazing upon one of these magical creatures of pain. This indescribable slab of colorless meat loves its home either on ice or on plate. On ice, this lovely creature dumps its smell into the air gassing the innocent bystanders that are forced to walk by. On plate, the smell is semi-covered by the roasted vegetables or heaped amounts of spice. Though the fish’s odor is covered by the cheap cologne of garnishes, the fish’s smell still cuts right through and burns my nostril’s flesh. This aroma gags me every time I catch a whiff, force choking my throat and causing acid reflux. The smell of fish is easily fought off with febreze or a gas-mask, the lingering taste of it is not. The taste of fish is disgusting: dull, flat palate, sour flavor, and tart. Sitting on the white plates the fish taunts me. My mouth turns to sawdust; my taste buds secrete the rotten taste of the scaly monster. Hearing the slap of fish on tables or the frying of fish in pan, can easily bring the taste of fish in back into my mouth. One can rid the taste of fish from mouth and throat with some food or drink; one cannot rid the feeling that occurs when your hand touches the slimy creature. Cleaning up after a dinner is not the most enjoyable time, but it is hell when fish is served. I am stuck tiding the leftovers of dinner and throwing away left over fish. The smell has subsided and I no longer taste fish in my dry mouth. Soapy water covers the white plate that once served the disgusting meal. My mortal enemies have vanished… or so I thought. I sweep my hand through the water trying to find the last item to wash. Something wet and slimy brushes my hand as if the devil is about to drag me to hell. I grab and bring the item out of the water. Scaly skin covers the drab flesh of the fish. The dull brown color of fish sits taunting me in my hand. I gag and throw the hunk of fish into the trash can, defeating my enemy once and for all. I hate my enemy not because my senses are revolted by the gross fish; I hate my mortal enemy because fish had once tried to kill me. …show more content…
Fish has destroyed me emotionally. I was naive and young at the time. My parents’ diet influenced me heavily. I was excited as they told me we were going to have a special dinner. Arctic Char butterflied with fried vegetables. The dinner sounded delicious and enchanting, a feast for a king. I set the table that night with high hopes, whilst my mother and father prepared the banquet. That night was going to be filled with memories: tasting the dinner, choking on dinner, and barfing up dinner. Satin white plates lined the table. The feast sat in the center of the table waiting on my mother to serve us. The sweet cologne of the vegetables filled the air around the table. The plates were served. The tasty meal pleased my eyes. The Arctic Char divided the plate between the vegetables and potatoes. With the fork and knife held tightly in my hands I dived into my meal. The buttery potatoes were the first