I'm taking a deep breath and putting my reputation on the line here today. I'm telling you a deep, dark secret.
Once, I was a worm worrier.
I try to be good, I honestly do. But we've all got a past. Right? And in my past I was a worm torturer. Or so I believed. I can't have been much older than I am in the picture here, though maybe a little, because I can remember it so clearly. Oho, yes, I remember it.
I was playing in the garden, in the sunshine, by myself when I spotted the worm. And someone, something, some little voice in my head came to me and said - pick it up, Sian. Don't you want to see what happens if you tie a worm in a bow?
Yes, yes, I did want to see. It would be an experiment. So I reached out my hand, I picked up that worm. I grabbed hold of each end, just like Grandpa had showed me with shoelaces, and I knotted. The worm wriggled. It was dirty. I threw it away.
And then the guilt took over. I was a worm knotter, a torturer, a murderer: everybody would know and I'd go to some kind of animal prison and live there for the rest of my life branded as a monster. I panicked. I can remember turning over the soil, the stones. I needed to find that worm and put things right. But the worm was gone.
Funny the little things that stay with you, isn't it? I still have worm regret, even though now I understand that the worm was probably fine. I bet my bows weren't have as accomplished as I thought they were (Grandpa had said keep practising). Quick somersault and that worm would have been good. Maybe it's time to stop looking over my shoulder? You know, for the worm police?
I made this page for Get It Scrapped's Ideas for Storytelling With Photos of Bugs and Critters. Of course I didn't have a photo of the event, so I used a favourite Little Me, telling a story.
So, you've heard mine. What's yours? A childhood transgression? An awful secret? Do tell...