I’m so tired from clicking that button on the damned counter! I’ve since lost track of counting and peeling all these eggs that exposes nothing but rotten cores. Peel one, nada. Peel two, nada. Someone should tell them to stop buying cheap eggs. If I was doing the buying, I would have definitely picked out the better eggs. Who doesn’t know to stop by J-Mart for the best groceries? What, you want me to buy the eggs? Oh, no – I think these are fine. I don’t have the time to get the eggs anyway! Where’s Daria when you need her?!

Click, click, click, click.

Yes, I have to keep going and peel all these eggs. Yes, all on my own. Get help? Oh, no – it’s not a big problem, really. Why be such a busybody? There’s not much good you can do, apart from being a thorn in their sides. I am quite the articulate thorn, in any case.

Click, click, click, click.

Do you want to see the wound? Really? Look – do you see this horrid gash on my leg? It’s so painful. I hope it doesn’t start festering! The doctor told me to apply this calamine lotion three times a day. God, calamine lotion costs so much. Do you know how much agony I’m in right now?

Click, click, click, click.

But I need a distraction…It’s so boring and horrible and I’m so tired. Really – It’s great having you around. You see, no one ever talks to me. I don’t know why. I just keep peeling eggs. You know, I do an awful lot for them. I cook their dinner, clean the house, wash the plates, take care of their bawling human baby…and what do I get? Absolutely nothing! When was the last time they said “Wow, Gina, thanks for doing the washing?” I can’t even remember! Maybe I’ll have to run away from this house for once. You see, I come from a faraway place, even further than the Andromeda galaxy. What, you think I’m kidding you? Ha! Shall I unzip this flesh suit and show you my real self? Oooh. But I would have to kill you later. No, no, that wouldn’t do. I’m still biding my time on this awful planet. You see, my friends dumped me here while we were on a mission. I’m still waiting for them to pick me up, but they seem to have forgotten me. They’ve left me alone with this creepy lady that sleeps in that room over there.

Click, click, click, click.

Ah! Do you mind if I read you a poem that I wrote? Hmm? Why am I peeling these eggs instead of writing poetry? It’s a long story, kid. I’ll tell you when I’m done with these eggs. Shhh. Not now. Don’t you know? She spies on me all the time. Who is she? I don’t know! But I hear her walk down the hallway; she cries in her sleep and sets the owls awake. Nobody knows who she is. She’s been here since the crack of time. They call me crazy when I mention seeing her walking to the kitchen in the night – “Stop spouting nonsense! She’s been bedridden for years!” Oh, but she’s halfway over the bridge that opens their entrances at 12 am. She’s too busy preparing for her sojourn while they’re too busy with their lives. It always happens. I’ve seen it all.

“A comical circus
in the delicate art
of the grotesque,
where half-cartons
of emptied talk

are scattered around
all up in arms?

As always –
a fantastic plot
guarantees an
amazing show,

so come and see us!

I repeat –

Come, and see us!

Wow, that was fantastic. I really like this. What, publish this? Oh no, you’re too kind…I’ll just continue peeling my eggs.  It’s so much easier and so much better being out of the path where they throw their stones. You never know when they’ll rev up the ancient cannon they’ve got stored over there. Trust me; you wouldn’t want to get a taste of that nasty bomber. Do you see this gash on my leg over here? Oh dear – I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t talk about myself so much, but I can’t help it –

Click, click, click, click.

Hmm? You hear something? Oh, no – it’s only the kettle. What, you want me to switch the stove off? But I do have an awful phobia of fire. From where I come, we don’t use fire. We simply have no use for it. And why should I – when there’s someone in the room? She’s always hiding in that room. She jolly well knows that this pyrophobia simply disables me, but she refuses to come out and switch it off. Nasty little brat! She’s always out to spite me. Of course, she’s not the only one. Everyone blatantly ignores that whistling kettle in the kitchen. See how it’s turned red and brittle from those overextended periods on the boil? One day, it will explode. You mark my words. Perhaps when someone stands by the stove, cooking that expensive Korean ramen while using my pots, that damned thing might blow up in their faces. Then they’ll know that my advice was good. What? How do I cook with my pyrophobia? Well, darling – there’s takeaways for that! I learnt that from the humans! And the family? Oh, they don’t mind takeaways. They’re too busy traveling around the world, eating out at fancy restaurants and having affairs with the saucy waitresses down the street. Why would they mind? Of course they won’t mind! Hmmm? Why did I buy the pots? Oh! They look good on the stove. Mind you, they cost a bomb. They’re state-of-the-art! I love the spun metal on this one! Maybe it’s for the best if my friends don’t come back to get me!

Click, click, click, click.



Having been a closet scribbler for too long, DeanJean finally started her own blog in 2016. She sees her writing as a creative opportunity to explore paths that stitch her interests, ranging from astrology to literature together with “lightning bolts from the blue”. Her forays into kooky short stories and free verse poetry can be found on www.zeldareville.wordpress.com and elsewhere, such as Blue Nib Poetry and Figroot Press. She currently lives in Singapore, where she can be found lurking in libraries, being hopelessly lost in parks or fervently building imaginary sandcastles at the back of public buses.

© DeanJean


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