Lupuleto II

egg made up of some species of colorful eggs, bright, with many positive energies of a good powerful additives preventing its expiration until the day of his death, -I mean, the eggs it´s is refered- of course. The owner of each container opens her eggs, occasionally, when he has been provoked for the action itself, of course!, and look inward, and if he has been satisfied what he is seen when introduced the head into the container, take one of this out, and invites one of each of them to lunch with him. Chat, and chat. The owner asks many things to little egg because he is eager to know about his story. Egg, red, for example, proud of their wisdom, will, and takes a drink, then another, and tells his story. And so, the owner of the container, quieter, smarter, or may be more fox as a experiencial human being, tells a bit of his life, too, but only what interest him to tell a llitle egg. After lunch, the container´s owner pays the bill, as he had professed and suggests the little egg, a new meeting to enjoy more stories. Egg, red, happy, and contented, goes to the center of the container with the other little egg, who, tells his adventure.
The days pass, and pass, and still going on, and red little egg, sits waiting at the door of the container, day after day, for the appeareance of his host which will invite him to go out and invited to something, anything, match, a beer, a breakfast. His friends, the other little eggs, of course, do not believe in him, and begin to taunt him, calling crazy, and gradually they were move away from him.
Therefore, one day, the owner, came and opened the container, and watched there for his own surprise, ¡the waiting egg!, he wasn´t wanted born. Not yet. He wants the ultimate vision, the ultimate conversation with the owner for the sake of whichever of one of them. So at the first sound the red little egg was prepared to be choosen and pulling out of the box, but it didn´t happen. The owner saw at the little egg, the red one, anf thougt in the waiting of him, in his last conversation, in his gaze, and then decided left them into the box. He couldn´t seem at little egg as bright as before, it did not already seems so funny, or may be, it was so clever for his perspective that was confuse because him wasn´t loose any debate.
It was very risky for him mind, his conviction, so he chose to pull out another little egg of the container, this time, white, to have a ligth talk, and removed the red for the basket. He throw him away, he expatriated from the container, exiled him to their friendship.
The little egg, red, who wasn´t understood anything because he could only see at himself as others eggs, perphaps, as part of a specie, then he thought: -¡may be, he has forgotten, that in his world, he could be also an egg ; if we were making a question of pattern about the thing it would be a good, good answer, then he realized that after a forgot space, a violent fly, the time was fleeting as well with him; so could not happen nothing more than an empty term and whereas he were thinking on this, his face lit up. He seems now a smiling sun, waiting for no other thing that a longer shine; but knowing, knowing, he had shone for the capacity to broke his own experience.
He felt then, how the shell was broken, while the owner was hitting him against the cold and smooth granite which formed the top of the island in the kitchen, so one day, it had been yours. Or, may be, the Chef –have been thinking-, he had the control and the power over this little egg.

Then he felt again. A pain, a absence. Disaggregated. Then a release. Then nothing.
Nothing, probably.
Or the beginning.

Yolanda Marín
April 2012