Gregg

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
A religious allegory about eggs.

Submitted: December 17, 2013

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Submitted: December 17, 2013

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 1. Greg

 

I once knew a man called Greg who every day for twelve years ate an egg. Oh he loved eggs did Greg and yet here was the funny thing; he only allowed himself one egg per day. His Father, you see, was an alcoholic so Greg knew only too well how addiction could ruin lives. The drink killed his old man; he was just forty-five when he was knocked down by a whiskey wagon.

 

Greg ate different eggs each day: runny when melancholy, scrambled when doubtful and fried when reckless. Greg’s wife had a penchant for poached but Greg didn’t touch them. She often asked him why but he never told her. It was actually due to an incident twelve years ago; before he met his wife or me…

 

2. Egg and Spoon Race

 

Greg was taking his morning stroll around his local park; eating his morning egg. That day, the egg was poached. He noticed a bald, bearded man in the distance. He could immediately tell this man was a salesman – he could sniff one a mile off.

 

“Good morning Sir, I am Francisco Mijango” the salesman announced.

 

Greg did not reply. The salesman looked down at his plate of poached egg.

 

“Salmonella is very dangerous Sir” Francisco the salesman continued. “I would strongly advise that you purchase my own special egg timer to avoid a fatality.”

 

Francisco revealed a golden egg timer from his breast pocket.

 

“I already have my own excellent egg timer thank you very much,” Greg said stiffly. “I never eat an egg without it; whether I cook it or someone else cooks it.”

 

“I understand Sir but with my egg timer I can guarantee perfect eggs every time.”

 

“I’m not interested in perfection” Greg snapped. “Excellence is my game. Now good day to you.”

 

Greg went to leave but Francisco was persistent.

 

“Before you go Sir, please can you answer a question?”

 

“What?”

 

“Have ever heard the expression ‘opening your mind to new things’?”

 

“No”

 

“I’m surprised, it’s a well known expression.”

 

“Now listen here, I don’t care for silly expressions or iffy egg timers. I don’t care for you either but I admire your persistence so here’s my proposition: you and I have an egg-and-spoon race. If you win then I buy this egg timer of yours. But if I win I snap it in two and I never see you again.”

 

Not a man to stand down from a challenge, Francisco accepted. He withdrew two dessert spoons from his beard and handed one to Greg. Greg removed two eggs from his pocket and placed one on each spoon. An invisible whistle blew and the race began. Francisco won by 4.3 inches.

 

“£50 please Sir” he said politely holding out the golden egg timer.

 

“Not with that beard” Greg spat and promptly snapped his egg timer in two.

 

He sprinted off with Francisco in hot pursuit. Greg hurtled towards a church and collapsed in the entrance panting for breath. A vicar came to Greg’s aid just as a furious Francisco reached them. He hauled Greg to safety – slamming the door closed.

 

“You have no honour cheat!” Greg heard Francisco shout through the church doors. “Mark my words I will have my revenge!”

 

From this day onwards Greg did not eat a poached egg for twelve more years.

 

3.  Praise be to Egg

 

It was at the church that Greg found God. He came to believe that the egg was a symbol for the Holy Heart; the shell was the Father, the yoke the Son and the white bit the Holy Ghost. Several years later he was preaching to people all over the land.

 

“Praise be to Egg!” became his most popular catchphrase.

 

He garnered loyal followers including Mary, who became his loving wife, and me, who became his best friend.

 

“People call me Jim Francis Coogan” I informed him when we first met.

 

“You will do well here!”

 

“Why’s that I asked?” smiling.

 

“Look at your round head, it looks just like an egg!”

 

“Please then do not crack it open” I replied jovially.

 

He ‘cracked’ up at this. We quickly realised we shared a similar sense of humour. We would play many egg-related pranks such as juggling eggs in nurseries and shouting ‘egg’ down the phone to Vegan families. These were good, good times but unfortunately the good had a bad habit of not lasting.

 

4. The Eggonists

 

The problem was I didn’t want to be limited to just one egg per day. 

 

“Greg I love egg! Why can’t we eat it all day long!”

 

“You’re mad Jim mad I tell you!”

 

A rift soon formed between us. I wasn’t alone in my feelings and I soon attracted my own followers. We formed a secret alliance “The Eggonists”; meeting each Saturday at the strike of midnight at St Holy Eggvangelical Cathedral. We cracked thousands of eggs in the font and bathed in the Godly goo. One night we gained a new, unexpected member…

 

Greg’s wife Mary had heard about our secret egg meetings and had snuck out of their bedroom one night.

 

“This is very untoward” she said.

 

“Untoward? Better than bored bored bored” I added wittily.

 

At first she just watched as we bathed but her interest and lust began to consume her. Soon she joined in our midnight eggonism. These times were exciting but maintaining a double life - one secret from her husband - was difficult for Mary.  I was falling in love with her and she was developing feelings for me too.

 

“Mary I want to pour egg on your face and lick it off.

 

“Oh Jim” she said.

 

“But your sweet cheeks are too crippled with guilty melancholic creases that it wouldn’t be a clean lick and remnants would be left.”

 

“Yes that would leave evidence for Greg to see.”

 

“Plus it would be unhygienic.”

 

“I have feelings for you too Jim but… I love Greg.”

 

“Mary you need a man who can accept who you are, every bit of you. He needs to accept you have an epicure for excessive egg eating.”

 

Before I knew it we were kissing – and more. Soon we were trying to see each other everyday and we were both aware that Greg was becoming suspicious. He had political connections too and he convinced the corrupt Prime Minister to release a new bill that banned the consumption of more than one egg within a 24 hour period. The penalty for not complying was a 2 year prison sentence and a ban from ever eating eggs again.

 

The dark times had arrived and there was no sun on the horizon. The day of the new bill saw two Eggonists arrested, tried and sentenced the same afternoon. It became increasingly difficult for the Eggonists to meet each Saturday and nearly impossible for Mary and I to see each other.

 

Greg began asking me to help him do things that he would normally have gotten a servant to do. When I wasn’t with him I was convinced he had spies watching my every move. The Eggonists still managed to meet – but now just once a month -  and it was no longer exciting but an act of tense, secret defiance.

 

I begged Mary to leave him and run away with me. Her reply still haunts me to this very day.

 

“You were just a fling Jim. It’s over. I love Greg.” My heart cracked in two; just like that egg timer twelve years ago.

 

I confess to you now that I wasn’t completely honest with Greg or Mary or you dear reader.  You see I was the egg timer salesmen from 12 years ago: Jim Francis Coogan is an anagram of Francisco Mijango. I shaved off my beard to fool him, to gain his confidence, to get my revenge. However he had inspired me and I have put my vengeance on hold to be his friend and join the cause.

 

Things had now changed and I was once again dead set on revenge. The problem was he was now heavily guarded so an impulsive attack would be nigh impossible. This was all the more true considering he no longer trustd me. However, I was a clever man and I had one or two tricks up my sleeve.

 

5. Last egg

 

I called him up out of the blue.

 

“Greg my old friend. I miss you.”

 

There was a long silence then finally, “I miss you too Jim.”

 

“Have you had an egg today?”

 

“I haven’t yet no.”

 

“I’m making breakfast. Would you like to come over?”

 

“Ok Jim.”

 

Greg arrived twenty minutes later. It must have been a while since I had properly looked at him because I was surprised by how much older he looked.

 

“I’m feeling poached Greg,” I said. “How about you? How about a poached egg?”

 

I watched him falter then slowly he relaxed.

 

“You know Jim I haven’t eaten poached in twelve years. But I think I’m ready to try it again.”

 

Greg removed his trusted silver egg timer from his pocket.

 

“If you don’t mind dear Jim… I always like to use my own timer.”

 

“Oh I know Greg, I know.”

 

As Greg sat down I swapped Greg’s egg timer for my own. At a casual glance it was the very same. But upon close scrutiny you would see it was painted silver but underneath it was golden. You could also see that when I turned it upside down that it was broken and the sand fell to the bottom in half the time as normal. When the last grain hit the bottom I served the eggs.

 

We sat down to eat. Greg said grace.

 

“Thank you Father for this egg.”

 

“Amen.”

 

We both took a bite at the same time. But whilst we chewed then swallowed I just chewed. His gulp was his last gulp and his face hit plate with a splat and a crack. He was dead.

 

Twelve years ago I defeated Greg in an egg-and-spoon-race. However rather than purchase the egg timer like he had promised he snapped it in two. When he committed this ungentlemanly act he created the weapon that killed him. It just didn’t happen for twelve more years.

 

Revenge is a dish best served cold. For Greg that dish was an egg.

 


© Copyright 2019 Gareth Brown. All rights reserved.

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