Ficlets

Eggs II

The shell cracked and a bundle of colors fell in a flurry into the hot oil.

“By the bejeebers, what are you doing to me, man?” The little figure danced in the hot oil hopping from foot to foot, cursing – I presumed – in gaelic tongue. “Well, stop ye staring and get me out of here. Before my cacks get fried.”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

Dumbfounded I quickly scooped the small fellow out and dropped him onto the counter.

“Ah, that’s better,” he said. He took off his hat and peered at me, his white shock of hair barely covering his pointed ears. “How comes the likes of you has enough magic to capture the likes of me?”

“ME!” I squeaked. “All I did was crack an egg and you fell out of it.”

“Don’t lie to me young fella, I knows what I sees.”

“Honestly, I don’t have any magic at all, all I have is this weird box of eggs…”

“No magic you says.” He looked at me knowingly. “Then you won’t mind if I check this out.”

He began to speak in his strange language once more, and a tingling ran up my spine.

View this story's 1 comments.