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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Books For Teens
A young girl's reflection on Earth.

Submitted: June 02, 2019

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 02, 2019





  I look into the glass incubator alongside my brother Ryan, searching for life stirring inside the brown speckled eggs. A pip, a crack, anything to show signs of a new member to our flock entering the world, our world, a polluted, corrupted, selfish, human-dominated planet.

People say humans are descended from apes, but I know this isn’t true. Not because of Science, not because of the Bible, not because of skepticism or an innate feeling in my gut, but because I know that if we were we’d have been smart enough not to land ourselves where we are now.

Ryan gets up to leave, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I wanted to have this moment alone.

Getting up quietly, I make my way to the backside of the incubator, where one egg about an eighth smaller than the others is hiding. My mom overlooked it, and my friend Dillon overlooked it as well, and Ryan barely noticed it, despite the fifteen minutes he had sat behind me, checking to see if any of the eggs had begun to hatch, but I had not, and for my intuitiveness, I am rewarded.

The egg quivers slightly and a very minute, very distinct hole in it grows as a triangular piece of shell is chipped away and lands quietly and lightly beside the egg. The infant chicken is almost visible through the translucent membrane, which, despite its delicate appearance, is the most difficult part of the egg for the chick to break through.

Hours pass and the egg quivers and the hole grows and a crack begins to make its way along the side of the egg, and the chick turns within the egg and patiently makes a neat line all the way along the eggshell, breaking it neatly in almost half, and then it takes its legs and with the last bit of strength it’s got, it kicks free from its prison and is born.

All over our corrupted planet, destruction is in action. Wars rage and the homeless starve and teens give away their purity just to feel wanted and men and women drink and get drunk and beat their children to death and every day, every single day, one to two Canadian females fall victim to physical or sexual abuse and every single second approximately one baby is aborted worldwide. Meanwhile, here this little Lavender Buffington chicken thing is, hatching in this incubator thing, designed by the same species that designed the nuclear bomb.

I can’t stop Isis. I can’t stop world hunger or rape, or child abuse, or murder, not now, not by myself. What I can do, I can help.

Sometimes there’s so little good in the world, I’ve felt like I had to cover for multiple people. I’ve learned, though, that if a blanket is stretched too thin everyone goes cold. I can only do so much. I try to do a little good to make a little difference.

That’s why I raise chickens. There’s something peaceful about knowing that while humanity kills itself and everything around it there are these little chicken dudes breaking free from their shells, hatching, being born, adding a little piece of hope to our future.

And me, I get to be a part of that.

© Copyright 2019 Ava Rose Weisberg. All rights reserved.

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