For most people, Halloween is the scariest holiday, it's a day when ghosts are said to rise and walk the earth.

And witches, skeletons, ghouls and goblins all beg for treats.

But for me, none of that was ever as scary as Thanksgiving.

Or maybe it's just the main event of the dreadful holiday.

Around six or seven "friends" and "family" all gather around the dinner table, and they pile mountains of food onto all of their plates.

And then they all starre and talk about how little your eating, and how oddly "thin" you are compared to the rest of them.

And once Aunt Maggie goes up for seconds, she'll rip the plate out of your hands and pill mashed potatoes, greens, and ham miles high.

Then everyone will watch you slowly, painfully, and unwillingly, eat. Until one by one, they slowly disappear.

And once you think that you've finally gotten rid of them, Uncle ben will pop his bald little head in and say, "Don't waste any food dear."

But this isn't the worst part, the worst comes when the bathrooms full, for over an hour.

So everything they made you ate has digested.

For me, this is a nightmare.

And every November my nightmares one by one sit at the dinner table, and pill enough food onto there plates, and mine, to feed a small nation.

And as I take my seat, all I can think is, "God, I hate Americans."

© Zakiyah Williams