Jimmy found an egg.

It was poking out of the baby bush that had recently started growing in his front garden.

He picked it up and took it inside. He placed it on the kitchen counter and stared at it. How did it get here? Why did it get here? He was fascinated by it.

It was just your classic hen’s egg – a few inches tall, a couple of inches wide, a pinky beige colour, etc – but for some reason Jimmy loved it. He wanted to take care of it. He wanted to nurture it.

His wife told him to stop being stupid.

‘It’s just an egg,’ she said. ‘It’s clearly just fallen out of our shopping. Look, here’s the pack of 12 eggs we literally just bought. There’s one missing. Now put it back and help me put the rest of the stuff away.’

Jimmy picked up the egg, walked into the living room and told his wife to ‘fuck off’.

He sat himself on the floor, removed his socks and laid them down to make a little nest. Jimmy placed the egg on top and gently cupped his hands over it.

‘Come on, Jim’ his wife snapped from the kitchen. ‘I need you to help!’

Jimmy stayed motionless, silently smiling at his hands.

She poked her head through the doorway. ‘Jim-‘

‘Sshhh,’ he replied. ‘I’m trying to look after this poor thing.’

‘Are you serious?’


Jimmy’s daughter wandered in to the room. ‘What’s that, Daddy?’ she asked.


‘That’s it,’ said Jimmy’s wife. ‘Come on dear, say goodbye to Daddy. We’re going to Grandma’s!’

As the door slammed, Jimmy’s shoulders relaxed.

After 12 weeks the egg still hadn’t hatched, but his life certainly felt quieter. Easier. Less full.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

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