I carefully selected a cardboard carton from the cold metal shelf. Peeping inside the stiff, brown, container, I made sure none of the eggs were busted.
With just one vastly uncoordinated motion of my foot, I was sprawled across the dirty gas station floor. I glanced over the eggs still balanced in my arms. I had saved all but one from my clumsy, doubtful feet. She was cracked. The veiny cracks were barely visible, but visible still.
This egg was no different from the rest. She was no weaker. She just chose to wear her scars proudly upon her bleached shell. They told the story of her past. They told the story of what hurt her.
The others were no stronger than her, only less proud of where they’ve been and where that’s lead to–cradled, shaken in my arms.
She was the strong one.
The metaphorical sense of the entire prose is very prominent, and works so well with the theme of the piece. I like that the piece is not necessarily cliche in the “cracked egg” sense. I loved that you took that metaphor and put your own twist on it. The pun in the title is a completely necessary bonus.
I really like how you use the eggs as a way to say that people (or eggs in this matter) are fragile, and how we may scar easily, but it doesn’t change the fact that we are still who or what we are; that, like an egg, a crack or a scar does not define just how strong or how weak we are, and those experiences only make us stronger.
I love the way you used the egg in relation to being scarred and in a sense “cracked”.
I agree with Tyler! I probably wouldn’t have thought of taken an approach such as this one but I really enjoyed it.
I like how you gave an egg from a store a whole persona, personifying it as a human girl, and then you broker her. I really connected with how you described this metaphor, good job!