Dozen

6:00. Every day for the last dozen years, Cass had eaten the same pleasant, predictable breakfast. One egg, hard-boiled. Two shakes of pepper, three of salt. Toast buttered to the edges, then glazed with jam. Four strawberries, green tops severed. Orange juice decanted into a small glass jar. Coffee, black.

That is, until this particular Saturday morning when she opened the refrigerator to discover that her eggs were missing – not out—missing entirely. Cass’s lips pursed and then parted almost imperceptibly as her eyes darted around the gleaming white shelves.

She had taken her weekly Friday evening trip to the grocery store, she was certain. Her favorite parking space had been taken by a rather askew and muddy pickup truck. She had carefully opened a container of eggs and returned it to the shelf after discovering a faint crack. Third egg. Left row. She had filled her typical half-dozen paper grocery bags, the squeak of the foam carton giving her a brief shiver down her spine as she slotted them in their usual spot, just beneath the plastic sleeve of wheat bread. And when she got home, she had slid the carton neatly into their rightful place in the fridge. Second shelf flush to the rightmost wall. – hadn’t she? Cass blinked into the cold, empty space where eggs should be and tilted her head slightly to the right. The hum of the fridge and the buzz of the light were interrupted by the alarm's shrill protest. Her stomach growled a low complaint. With a sharp inhale to fortify herself, Cass turned her heel on the tiled floor and headed to the front door.

As she pulled into the desolate grocery store parking lot, the singular mud-strewn pickup waited by the cart corral like a stain. She positioned each of her soles on the splintered black parking slab. The slam of her own car door startled her. Shifting her purse strap higher on her shoulders, she straightened and marched towards the doors. Expecting them to glide open before her, instead, they towered silent, unmoving. Cass glanced at her watch. Twelve more minutes until opening. She stood fiddling with the top button of her pressed blouse until an unrushed, oily-haired clerk lumbered over with the keys spinning lazily around on his finger. At last the doors opened with a hiss and a gust of artificially chilled air.

She waded through the heady floral scent of roses. The vegetal mist of celery. The yeasty sweetness of the bread. Then the coolness of the dairy pricked her skin. The familiar beeping of the checkout lines began. Beep. She passed the fogged glass of gallons upons gallons of milk. Beep. Butter. Beep. Yogurt. Beep. Here, where the eggs should be. Beep. The shelves seemingly emptied and stocked only with poultry. Beep. Pack after pack of butchered breasts, thighs, wings. Beep. No pristine rows of cartons. Beep. No creamy white shells. Beep. Only meat. Beep. Whole carcasses splayed. Beep. Glistening, slick, and pink pressed against clear plastic. Beep. Beep. Beep. She paced back and forth in front of the grisly cases, beads of sweat forming on her upper lip. She swallowed, her stomach churning.

She dashed back to her car, finger trembling as she hit the ignition button. The radio blared to life. 7:32 gleamed on her dashboard. She threw the shift in reverse and squealed out of the parking lot.

The buildings and strip malls were a grey blur in her windows. She was fixated on the traffic light ahead and watched it flick from green. To yellow. To red. Her turn signal clicked as she sat bones and sinew chocking her steering wheel.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

She heaved herself through the diner’s door, her shoes padding on the speckled black mat in the entry, then sticking as she peeled them from the linoleum. A “seat yourself” sign and the scent of scorched coffee and grease were her greeting. She scooted over the cracked red pleather of the nearest booth and held the hefty, laminated menu in her hands. She flopped it down on the chipping surface of the table, eyes skimming the dented text under the glare of fluorescent lighting.

Breakfast Specials;

Pancakes (2)

Pancakes (4)

Pancakes (6)

Biscuits and gravy

Folds:

The Denver Sauteed onions, cheese, and green peppers folded into deli ham

The Garden Spinach and mushrooms folded into a flour tortilla

Sides:

Bacon or Sausage, Toast or Biscuit, Hashbrowns or Grits

Beverages:

Orange Juice

Apple Juice

Milk

Coffee

Tea

Sodas

She frantically flipped over the menu to find only a grayscale grid of advertisements.

The pert server sauntered over, pen in hand.

Cass’s mouth went dry.

What can I get you, ma’am?

But Cass couldn’t get her mouth to form the words. Her tongue glued thickly to the roof of her mouth.

Coffee’s hot. Denver’s good—lots of ham.

I’d like…

What is it that she’d like again? Why was she here?

The smell of bacon grease coated her nostrils.

Her stomach roiled.

I’m sorry

She ran to her car

8:22

She throws open her door and drops her purse to the floor

Slips into the kitchen

She is ravenous

Opens the fridge

Sees the carton

Clutches it with her hand

Pries it open

Eyes rounding to globes

Takes out one single orb

Slowly rolling the white thing in her palm

What is this

Lets it drop to the floor

Cracking

Its insides spilling

Oozing

Clear with a shock of gelatinous yellow

She flees to her room

flings her duvet over her head and

screams and screams and screams

The scream is still vibrating in her throat as the steam slaps her face and the smell of sulfur surrounds her She is back in her kitchen boiling a dozen of the white things She plunges her hand in the roiling water retrieves one brings her blister-red fingers to the crack forming along the top and runs a nail along its ridge severing the thing membrane and puts it shell and all in her mouth crunching her tongue moving over flecks of sediment sticking to her teeth the silkily smooth white innards pressing to her palate the dense center turning from chalky to viscous as she chews and chews and slides it down her throat and she reaches and chews and swallows again and again and again and again more more more more more more more more more

12:00