I was around 3. Standing in my mother's chicken run, just dawdling around like a spazzy kid. Then this really horrible feeling came over me and i blacked out. Now that im much older, i know those feelings were despair, and snfer, and hopelessness. When i "woke up" i was in another part of the chicken run and there was a dead chicken laying at my feet. I remember it had one drop of blood coming from one of its eyes. I was horrified. I love chicken, all poultry and birds really. I knew i did not do this. Traumatised i went into the house, the lounge, sat down and took off my sandals. I put them on the mantel piece gor some reason. Just sat there. A bit later my mom barged into the lounge and proceeded to beat the shit outa me. That bit didn't faze me, even then i was used to getting beaten, it was pretty much a daily thing with her. But i was so saddened at the thought that she just assumed i'd killed the chicken.