CRACKED: An Anthology of Eggsellent Chicken Stories by J. Posthumus (feel good novels txt) 📗

faked excitement because the kids deserved better than a lackluster teacher. “This morning, we’re going to double-check the incubator to make sure it’s working, and we’re going to set the eggs inside.”

The kids loved this part. Ruthann and her assistant teacher plus two parent helpers worked with the kids (with very, very careful supervision) to arrange the incubator and open the box with their eggs.

She’d ordered six eggs, and in the box were six perfect eggs—plus one broken egg.

“Eew!” one of the boys shouted. “That’s gross! Can I hold it?”

A girl sniffled. “That’s so sad. If you break an egg, you killed a chick!”

“That’s true. But we still have six eggs.” Ruthann fought fury that the seller hadn’t removed the broken egg. Sure, they’d made it right by adding a replacement, but you don’t just…send the broken egg too. Talk about unfair to the little kids.

Six healthy eggs went into the incubator. They were all different breeds of chicken egg, blue, or speckled, or gold, or brown, and one larger than the others. Tomorrow the students would talk about what made chickens lay different color eggs. She couldn’t tell what kind of egg the broken one was. What jerks, traumatizing little kids.

Ruthann kept composing a nasty letter in her head, especially when one of the kids looked at the incubating eggs with a trembling lip. “There could have been seven.”

She’d only ordered six. Ruthann said, “We talked about how eggs are delicate. The shell is so thin.”

Not the object lesson you’d hope for, but still.

The student wrung his hands. “Didn’t the farmers know they had to be careful?”

Ruthann sighed. “Sometimes you’re very careful, but things still break.” Like your hopes and dreams. Although that wasn’t fair—she had dreamed of teaching kindergarten and owning a rural home with a little property. She had it all. Sometimes she wanted more, but how ungrateful was that?

The student said, “Why would God make eggs so fragile?”

Ruthann said, “Maybe they’re fragile so we always know to be careful about other things that can break, like other people’s feelings.”

As soon as she spoke, she realized she couldn’t write that nasty letter. She’d feel just as discontented afterward, and the egg would be just as broken.

At the end of the school day, Ruthann checked again on the incubator. “Good night, sweet chicks. Even if you’re still only eggs, you’re cute as you are.”

Sekkiel spent twelve continuous hours retracing his steps across the Earth and praying, both at the same time. Father God, please reveal what is hidden. At every place, though, he found no evidence of the egg.

Zynna, friend and fellow volunteer, followed Sekkiel through every spot, praying and giving him her calm whenever the frustration built. For reasons known only to Himself, God wasn’t telling Sekkiel where to find the egg. Nor even why it had vanished from the pocket dimension.

You know perfectly well where it went, so why won’t you tell me? Sekkiel prayed.

Although Zynna couldn’t hear his prayer, she let her calm seep into his heart. “We’ve been through every location twice. Let’s regroup and come up with another plan.”

He tightened his wings. “I have a plan. Find the egg.”

Zynna touched her wingtips to his and lowered her voice. “If we do this a third time, demons will realize we’re looking for something. They’re going to search.”

Sekkiel clenched his jaw. What would a demon put in the egg? What could they do to a developing chick? “We can’t let that happen. It’s probably not exactly an earthly creature anymore. Not if it germinated in Heaven.”

That’s why they brought the eggs before God. Let God handle them.

Zynna took his hand to transport him to a place of solitude. They reappeared on a pumice raft, ocean dominating their vision all around.

Zynna tucked up her legs. “You never touched the egg’s pocket dimension after putting the egg into it. You’re sure you put the egg fully inside before sealing it. Therefore I want to try an experiment. Can you create a pocket and put me into it?”

Sekkiel shrugged. “Of course, but do you think I lost it through bad technique? I’ve never lost anything before.”

Zynna shook her head. “It’s worth trying, if only to change my perspective.”

Sekkiel re-opened the same miniature universe. He didn’t push Zynna in the way he had the egg, but after she flowed inside, he sealed the opening. Her sensation vanished. After a minute, he reached into the pocket dimension, and she popped out. “It was very quiet.” She flexed her wings. “I may start making those for myself, just for a private retreat space.”

Sekkiel chuckled. “That’s what your home in Heaven is for.”

“I felt focused inside it. Regardless, the dimension itself is solid, so your setup was fine.” She tightened her bronze-toned wings to her back as she thought. “Do it again, but this time, in between sealing me in and letting me out, open another dimension and take something out of it, like you did with your sword.”

Sekkiel was used to maintaining several pocket dimensions at once, but he opened it up, and in she went. His sword’s pocket was two thousand years old, and the sword was the first thing he pulled out and put back. Next he opened the pocket for whichever book he was reading, and finally repeated the process with his musical instrument.

Before he was done, Zynna’s energy reappeared in the world, and he turned to find a very wide-eyed angel. “You never stored a living thing in a pocket, did you?” When he shook his head, she said, “Reaching in and out of the other pockets made mine less stable. I felt you accessing them. The third time, the barrier was so thin that I burst out.”

Sekkiel’s hand clenched on his clarinet. “Are you saying the egg—?”

“—popped out somewhere in space and time. I ended up back where I wanted to be.” Zynna raised her wings and looked at the ground. “I can’t imagine where an egg would want to be.”

Ruthann’s students