by Ryan Tenesaca
When he turned the tender age of five, he was given an egg. That egg was his to keep; how he raised it was up to him. It was said when one receives an egg, it would attach itself to its owner: not in the way a pet attaches itself to its master, rather how a leech attaches itself to a body. Its teeth sunken deep in skin, its suckers adjusted just right for blood to be circulated into its system. He didn’t know this, of course. He didn’t seem to care, either. He didn’t know what was inside the egg, he just knew he wanted one. As days shifted to night, then back to day again, his eyes never once left the egg, with its fragile, brown-tinted shell. He would take it everywhere: to outings, to school, to the park, anywhere that would turn the attention towards him—his egg.
One day, a friend asked, “Hey Kota, why does your egg look like that? It’s brown and not white like ours.” He looked down at his egg and realized it wasn’t, it was different from all the rest. Yet he nodded, then looked at his friend, “I don’t know why, I’m just glad I have one.” his friend nodded in response, in agreement almost, for the fact that as long as they both had an egg to show, everything would be alright. “What do you think your egg will hatch into? I hope mine turns out to be a butterfly,” he said. “A butterfly? That would be nice. I don’t know, maybe a fish or a dog.” he said, looking down once more at the egg. It never occurred to him what would hatch from it. He was probably the only one who never questioned it. At least, not until his friend had asked him.
Later that day, he laid in his bed, no longer admiring the egg but rather questioning it. The questions his friend asked, dancing around in his mind. The more he thought, the more he obsessed over what the end result would be. He then turned toward the ceiling when abruptly, he felt this strange hollowing in his stomach. A sensation of urgency, of panic. This would be one of many that he would feel throughout his time with the egg. Soon after, he managed to fall asleep despite the uncertainty. When he woke the next day, he noticed the egg had gained a spot on the upper part of its shell. Not knowing what this meant, he paid no mind to it and instead felt excitement: soon his egg would hatch. He was one step further than the rest of his friends. The eggs’ growth had finally begun, he thought. That strange sensation vanished, crumbled, and dissolved to ash. At least, for now.
Six years had passed, and his egg had gotten bigger and heavier, and had begun to move. The adults around him had said that once the egg begins to move, it will be ready to hatch soon. The matter of when, they did not know. His mother had told him that it would hatch the more you ran with it. His father, on the other hand, told him that it would hatch if you grabbed a hammer and cracked it open yourself. This would not have bothered him then, but now, it was eating at him whenever he stopped to look at the egg. Examining its widened close-to-black spots now surrounding its entirety; staring at its coffee caramel complexion, impatiently awaiting its shell to burst and reveal its marvelous surprise. He then stared at the crack he gave the egg three years ago.
It was the week of his birthday, and he was turning eight that Thursday. He was so excited that he had told every one of his friends to show up, and to his surprise, they did. He didn’t think anyone would show since the sight of his spotted egg appalled them. Every day he came into school, they would ask about the new spots that revealed themselves. “My egg is fine, guys. It’s just in its mid-state right now. Pretty soon it’ll be the first to hatch, just you wait.” But that wasn’t the case. His would be the last of all eggs to hatch.
Thursday came and everyone showed up to help with the celebration. In came the cake, balloons, confetti, piñata. All of them sitting in the living room comparing the status of their eggs; their parents finishing up the preparations. Each of them would show how their egg’s patterns resembled something fairy-like: alluring, ethereal, enchanting; something sprightly and mesmerizing; something pure and innocent. Yet his was not. His was heinous, grotesque and foul. He never allowed his discomposure to show in front of his friends, but this time, he couldn’t help but show his concern and embarrassment. That strange hollow feeling snuck back in and wrapped around him like a viper with its unsuspecting prey. He was trapped—petrified—by the existence of his egg. The egg that he once cherished and adored, he now despised and regretted. And he, questioning his own vanity, wishing he would vanish into nothingness, hoping for this day—his day—to end.
The next moment, his mother called them over to blow out the candles. Everyone began to surround him as the candles were lit one by one. They began to sing to him, and the happiness he felt evaporated, thinned itself, and dispersed into pitiful gas. Then his mother said, “Make a wish, sweetheart.”
He paused for a moment, and before he could blow out the candles, he heard the doorknob turning. It was his father, his footsteps echoing loudly in the hallway as he approached. Everyone was silent, the adults sharing awkward yet frightened stares; the kids’ showing signs of confusion; and he, petrified, knowing all too well what was to come.
In an instant, his father rushed to him, unbuckled his belt, and began to beat him in front of everyone, the table tumbling over, spilling the cake and drinks on the floor. Quickly, the adults began to restrain his father; the kids screaming, crying, and confused as to what was happening. “Robert, please! Don’t do this!” His mother pleaded, the others trying to pin him down.
“Get off me, you bitch!” His father screamed out, releasing himself and thrusting the guests back and onto the floor. He then grabbed his wife by the hair and threw her across the room. Her head ricocheting off the edge of the wall. “Now, where is that little shit Kota?!”
But he was gone. He grabbed his egg and left, leaving the adults to salvage what was now a disaster. He reached the park by the end of the road and sat on the swing set, alone. Just him and his egg. He began to tremble and cry, “Why?! Why did this have to happen?!” he screamed out. “Why today?! Why him?! Why me?!” his voice getting louder and louder until he felt the egg begin to vibrate. He stopped then and lifted the egg. Suddenly, he found that another two spots had revealed themselves. Yet something was still off. He moved the egg around until he found a crack from the bottom up of its shell. He stared at it, hypnotized by its imperfection and brought it closer, hugging it in his embrace. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said to the egg, as tears continued to fall down his face.
Now, he is in his room, still staring at the egg, still wondering what this egg will be, his continued frustration rising. He realizes then, that he had still not made his wish from three years ago. And so, without a second thought, he closes his eyes and wishes for his egg to hatch. A few moments pass and nothing. The egg doesn’t move, or vibrate, or shake. It simply sits there, on the floor doing nothing. “I knew it. You’re nothing but a joke, a disappointment. You’re worthless, useless, nothing but trash,” he stops suddenly. “No, I am. I’m worthless. I’m useless. I am nothing,” he now says to himself.
He sighs and begins to stand to face his bedroom door, when he hears a cracking sound. He turns once again and faces the egg. It’s beginning to hatch. His eyes begin to widen, his face finally showcasing a genuine smile.
When the egg bursts open, a human body is revealed. As he moves closer to it, the body turns, and they stare at each other. What he saw wasn’t his fish or his dog, but his creature: a pale, horrendous, foul and repulsive reflection of himself. One that he loathes and wishes would be eradicated, hoping it would know that it would amount to nothing.
“W-What are you?” he asked the creature.
“What do you mean? I’m you.”
Ryan Tenesaca is driven by the unsettling beauty of the bizarre. He is an aspiring writer delving into the realms of weird fiction. His imagination thrives in the spaces where reality frays, and the human psyche confronts the inexplicable. Through his stories, he aims to weave suspenseful narratives that linger in the mind long after the final page, exploring the eerie, unique, and unsettling perspective. He is eager to share the strange and captivating worlds taking shape within his words.
Art, “cracked egg right” by Hannah Khash (CC) BY 2.0
