Eyes stare at the smooth white shell.
Twitching fingers are unsure,
slowly they begin to explore the shape of the egg.
They follow the gentle curve.

The egg,
innocent, unspoiled,
but cannot protect herself from the probing.

The egg feels the hunger
of the fingers on her.
She senses the malevolence.

Growing in confidence,
the fingers comfort the egg,
the fingers caress the egg,
the fingers lust for the egg.

It has to be done,
sugar is anxiously waiting,
milk and flour depend on her.
Crack.

Then comes the gruesome torture.
A piercing cry echoes and fills the ears
but they pretend not to hear.
Horrible machinery mangles the egg’s insides.
The eyes remain transfixed.
The preheated oven, the evidence of premeditation.
And then the egg is trapped
in the chamber of death.

Fifteen minutes;
she pleads and begs.
Ten minutes;
she continues to fight her fate
Five minutes;
The delicious smell of murder
wafts through the kitchen

The corrupt egg timer celebrates,
glorifying her cousin’s inevitable doom.
The heinous cooking is done.

A bite is taken.
Sharp teeth penetrate her flesh,
satisfying, delightful.

The fingers are revolutionary.
The egg plays martyr for their cause.
Now they say,
“You have to break some eggs,
to make the sweet cake.”