EGGVOLUTION

1006 words

EGGVOLUTION

By Gloria Vasquez

“HELP! I’m trapped! This hard oval is surrounding me, and I barely have room to move.” My cries echo back in bleak silence.

I keep brushing up against the curves of my prison, and there’s no way out. My only comfort is the warmth I feel for hours at a time, when something settles over me. I feel safe, cozy, and protected.

Sometimes the soft heat goes away, and I am left colder, exposed to a harshness I can’t understand. I decide to make a bold move and bash my head against the wall that thwarts my escape and—lo and behold—I make a hole with my beak! Bright light floods in, and wonderful aromas I can’t identify drift through. I keep up the bonking until I can get my whole head through the crack.

“A way out! But who—or what—are you?”

Two fluffy, awkward-looking, gangly creatures are staring back at me. One blurts out:

“Hey, look! She finally managed to break out of the egg! It took her long enough,” the bigger fluff ball snorted.

“Where am I? Who are you two?” I ask in a daze. Looking around, I see my old jail cell—two halves of white lying next to me. Surrounding us are rough, brown tubes knitted together into a railing that barricades the three of us in the middle. Soft fluff is scattered around as well as prickly ovals that have a pleasant sappy smell. Above me, I see bright blue that seems to go on forever.

One of the fuzzy creatures bonks me with his head—I guess he might be a bratty brother.

“You’re in the nest, stupid,” he chirps. “Don’t you know anything?”

“How am I supposed to know where this is? I just broke out a minute ago!”

Suddenly, a huge shadow flies in, landing at the edge of the brown rail. It hops toward us, holding a silvery flipping critter in its mouth. Involuntarily, my beak opens wide, and I realize I am very hungry—this wriggling, shimmery creature is the answer.

We jockey for position, open our mouths wide, and the bigger adult creature tears up the shiny thing, giving us juicy morsels one beakful at a time. The others get more than I do because they know how to push me out of the way, but I get enough to fill me up.

I feel a strong connection to my fish deliverer and begin to think, Maybe he’s my protector?

Soon, an even bigger protector swoops in—she has a beautiful white head, a dangerous-looking yellow beak, and a black-feathered body. She hovers, then begins tucking us beneath her massive wings to keep us warm. I believe she must be where I came from—my mother. I remember the warmth I felt in my prison. She has a soft patch with no feathers on her belly, just big enough to keep us snug and safe, like I felt then.

The next days are a blur—hunger, feedings, naps, and getting bonked out of the way by my siblings. Mom keeps us toasty and protected most times, but Dad does his part. I get very excited when I see him flying in because it means breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

To my surprise, my body keeps getting bigger—and so does my hunger. The three of us fight each other to be first to get fed. Since I’m the youngest, I am usually last, but there is always enough for us all.

One day, a strange thing happens. White stuff starts falling from the sky, building up in the nest and making us all shiver. Wind whips the branches, shaking and scaring us. Mom crowds us beneath her, but because we’ve all grown, it’s getting tight under her belly. That night, the wind blows hard, and the freezing flakes creep all around her, finally covering her completely. I try to center myself under her to escape the cold, snuggling up against my brother and sister.

Dawn comes. I wonder if the white stuff has stopped. Mom lifts off us so we can peek out, but it is still very cold. Dad flies in with breakfast. That’s when I notice—there are only two of us. Where is my brother? He had been under Mom at the beginning of the storm—now he is gone.

Another day passes under Mom’s protective wings, and the icy flakes begin to melt so we can venture out and move around more in the nest bowl. Dad flies in with a fish and moves slowly to the edge. He picks something up in his beak.

“Oh, no!”

It is my brother. He isn’t moving. His fuzzy body is wet and limp. He must have slipped out from under our warm haven and been exposed to the freeze. Dad gently carries him to the railing of the nest. Later, Mom flies in, stares at my brother’s body, bows her head, and gently picks him up before flying away. I never see him again.

After the storm, my sister and I continue to eat and grow. As the weeks go by, we discover our wings and our big, yellow, clown feet with claws on the ends. I love stretching out my wings, flapping, hopping and slapping my sibling—we call it “wingercizing.” My sister is much more daring than I am. She flaps furiously, hops to the edge of the nest, jumps onto a tube, and flaps some more. I know what she is trying to do, but I am afraid. She wants to fly like our parents.

Then one day, she jumps out on a long branch, beating her wings fast. And then—off she goes. She flies! Away!

“Wait! Wait for me! I’m not ready. You can’t leave without me!” But she does.

I spend the next few days practicing my flapping. I venture out on the same snag she had. I begin to flap my wings as hard as I can.

“I can fly!” And off I go—into the big, blue sky.