A first attempt
I always liked scrambled eggs, and Mrs. B's were definitely the best. Pale yellow and creamy, with just a hint of something I've never been able to identify.
Every morning, practically all the kids in the neighborhood would stop by on the way to school, hoping for a morsel or two from her kitchen.
"What is her real name, anyway?" Deens had asked me once as we munched on a couple of golden egg cookies on the way to school.
I shrugged, mouth too full of cookies to answer. We pondered over it for about half the morning, but forgot about it on the way home when we stopped by her house again for some macaroons.
"Thanks Mrs. B!" I gave her a macaroon-y grin. She reached out a vein-y white hand and tousled my hair, laughing. "You're welcome, my dear. And such lovely soft feathers you've got, too!"
"Feathers?" I echoed aloud, but Deens didn't even hear it. She was already waving goodbye to Mrs. B, halfway down the road. "Bye, Mrs. B! Thank you for the macaroons!"
"Would you like to see my hens, dear?" Mrs. B asked, once Deens was out of sight. I glanced at her curious, chicken-shaped wall clock. 10 minutes to 6. I had time before Matron expected me back at the Home, so I shrugged and nodded. "Sure."
The sun had nearly set when Mrs. B led me out the back door, and right into... a huge nest. "Do you like my hens, my dear?" she placed a bony hand on my shoulder. "Um... yes'm." was all I could muster in reply. The sheer number of her feathered pets was a bit frightening. No wonder she had enough eggs to make pastries and things for all the kids in the neighborhood. I stared at them, all shapes, colors and sizes, and they stared back at me with equal curiosity. Some of them were scratching the dirt near the edge of the nest, and some were fighting for worms. Mine, they seemed to squawk all at once. Mine!
I swallowed hard and looked at her. "It's um... It's a secret chicken lair!" I blurted before I could stop myself. "It is," she agreed, pressing hard on my shoulder. "You know, I never had any children of my own..."
And all too quickly, the ground was getting closer and closer, and everything seemed to blur right before my eyes. I need to go home, I thought. "I'm sure you do, dear." Mrs. B was nodding.
And then everything was alright again. Mrs. B had me in her white, white arms and she was stroking my head. I looked up; the sun had already set. "I told you you had such lovely feathers," Mrs. B crooned, her fingers smoothing down my hair. I beamed up at her like I had earlier that afternoon, then struggled and fussed so she'd put me down. As soon as she did, I scrambled to the corner of the yard and dug at the dirt.
Ah, there it was; a nice juicy, fat worm. Mine, I thought smugly, deftly pecking it up with a hardened beak. Mine.
It's funny; nowadays, I don't even like scrambled eggs anymore.
Ok, that was weird. Even I didn't expect that to happen. o.o Mutti and I were looking at our chicken lair earlier today (yes, we have that many chickens) and the idea just popped up. Corny? Creepy? Pointless? ...Or as Simon Cowell would say, "I just didn't get it"?
I haven't written a thing for the longest time, and this is what I come up with. Honestly, Chacquie... chickens and eggs??? Haven't you got anything other than food in that head of yours? *munches on a cookie*
Edit: ok, that was an exceptionally crappy first attempt x.x