It’s not too late for Easter, right? Hunting for writing prompts is a little like an Easter egg hunt, if I want to really stretch it. Going through the ordinary and humdrum and hoping to find that little spark of color that has something exciting within. Let’s hope this one’s got good candy.
The writing prompt I found was “You find an egg while hiking and take it home. But you never could have expected what hatched out of it!”
Now of course the obvious route is dragons or rocs or griffins or something like that. Or go Minecraft where everything spawns from an egg. But no, we’re not going to do that. Oh no no, too easy. And so we begin…
Dear Journal,
I just want to write down what’s been happening. I don’t think I’m crazy but hey, if I am, this’ll help diagnose me. If not, maybe it’ll be useful to anyone else who ends up in the same predicament.
I’ve become the mother of a rock.
It started two weeks ago. I was taking a break to go on a hike down Paulos Way. There’s a little forest and then it goes through some foothills behind some sheep pastures. A nice hike for a spring day. Anyway, I took a break and was leaning on a fencepost when I saw something in the grass. It was a large brown-speckled egg.
Now, I’m not some sort of freak who takes home eggs out of nests or something. I’ve never done that before. But I’m also something of a bird watcher by hobby and I knew there weren’t any birds around here that could lay such a large egg. It was a two-handed affair, smaller than pictures I’ve seen of ostrich eggs but way bigger than a goose egg or something. So I figured the conservationists would be interested or at least able to give me some answers.
When I picked it up, the egg was warm. Which was weird because there weren’t any birds or anything around and it was just lying on the ground, no insulation or anything. Anyway, I wrapped it in a blanket in my car, searched for a nearby conservation center, and started driving. It wasn’t close but it was my day off, I wasn’t busy, and I figured I had the time to do some good. I turned on the seat warmer of my seat and headed out.
About fifteen minutes into the drive, I heard it start hatching. I about had a panic attack but then I figured bird eggs take a while to hatch, they have to rest and all, I’d be fine and so I kept going. Well, the egg just kept hatching. No pauses. Which should’ve given me warning for later life. Eventually I pulled over because driving with that egg shell crackling was driving me to distraction. Not great when you’re on the road.
So there I am in a truck station parking lot in the middle of the afternoon, an hour away from home, watching a giant egg on my passenger seat. And I realize, with the little holes showing up, I should be able to see feathers or a little beak with an egg tooth by now. But I can’t. And it just keeps getting weirder. Like, normal egg hatching goes “chick finds a weakness, chick pecks a hole, chick stops to breathe, chick keeps pounding away at that weakness until it cracks the egg shell in half, chick flops gasping into the cold hard world until it fluffs up into a ball of down.” We hatched chicken eggs in my class in fifth grade, I’m fairly familiar with the process even though that was eons ago.
This egg, though, started getting holes on various parts of it. Like whatever was inside was turning around and chipping at different areas. Or was poking through with more than one part of its body. And I couldn’t see feathers or beaks inside, it just seems… smooth? It made cracks all over the egg like the tectonic plates on earth and then there’s a snap and pieces of shell go flying all over and what’s left is… another egg. Made of rock. Gray, black-flecked rock.
I stared at that egg for a little bit and then reached over to touch it but before I could, it unrolled. I couldn’t quite believe it. Rock is hard, immovable, only changed by abrupt hard force or long soothing force like picks or rivers. But this rock just… unrolled like putty. The granite-like exterior molded and there was a small face looking up at me. It had eyes like spheres of polished obsidian and a tiny pocket of a mouth. No visible nose that I could see. And its belly was concave and spiked with quartz crystals like some kind of reverse hedgehog. It stood on small nubs that moved when it walked, but right at that moment, it was holding still and staring at me with utter fascination.
I stared back for a while before tentatively reaching out and touching it with one finger. It felt hard and warm, like sun-baked stone. At my touch, its little eyes closed and it made a chirring sound. I decided the animal conservancy was the wrong place to take this little guy. A geologist’s society may have been more appropriate. Either way, I decided to take it home for now and do some internet research.
Well, looking around online turned up absolutely nothing. Meanwhile, he went around on my floor and started inhaling dust like a tiny roomba. Well, I say he. I’m not sure if rocks even have a discernable anatomy. Then again, something must have laid that egg. I don’t know. But Balboa feels like a he so… we’re sticking with it.
Yeah, Balboa. Bobo for short. Yes I named him after Rocky. What’s wrong with that?
Anyway, Bobo’s become a bit of a fixture in my life. He doesn’t take a lot of care; he feeds himself pretty well. He likes taking baths though he got too big for my sink pretty fast. Or at least bigger than I want to lift to my sink. I made him a ramp to and from the bathtub. He’s shy so when I have people over he just curls into a rock and they just all think I have a small boulder for some reason. I guess that’s fine. He keeps my carpets really clean. He even eats paper shreds and paperclips and such. I wonder if that’s bad for him but I don’t know. My bigger problem is making sure I don’t leave anything I actually want on the floor or he’ll eat that too. Or at least for now. I do worry, though, if he eats something that makes him sick, what kind of vet am I going to see that can take care of rocks?
But life’s not all roses. We have our problems too. If he’s trying to get somewhere I don’t want him to, or if he decides he’s in a mood, he lumps into a ball that feels two or three times as heavy as normal. I can’t even pick him up and if I’m lucky I can roll him a bit. I strained my knee that way once. Speaking of injuries, I’ve stubbed my toe on him nearly every day since he arrived. Maybe one day he’ll figure out not to be in my way when I’m walking? And he gets upset when I’m gone for a while. He’s figuring out my schedule and the other day when I took a shower to get ready for work, he balled himself up by the door so I got stuck inside and couldn’t get out. I managed to lever my way out but if he gets much bigger, this is going to be a big issue.
Overall though, Bobo’s a good friend and a nice fellow to have around. He sits by me when I’m reading and radiates warmth. It’s pleasant. His belly looks gorgeous in the sunlight and he’s a clean and quiet pet. So if you happen to find an abnormal egg on a hike… well, good things might come of it if you take care of it.
I’ll keep my journal posted on how things develop further. Right now I hear a grumbling rolling sound in the hall, I think Balboa is bowling. I’ll be back.
Intellectual Property of Elizabeth Doman
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