(no subject)
Late Prompt 7 - broken egg
Title: Fragile
Author: molly_coddles
Format and Word Count: drabblish, 290
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended to JKR or anyone else.
Summary: Which came first? Sometimes even grownup chicks need the comfort of a mother's wing.
A/N: Ovum ruptum est (“The egg is smashed”) is an ancient Roman expression for disaster.
Fragile
She did it again, damn it. Mum’s been in my flat; cleaning and stocking the pantry and cupboards. It would rankle, if I could summon the energy to care.
She pokes her nose in here almost daily, incessantly mothering. “Have you been eating, love? You know you need your vegetables. Bright-coloured vegetables are good for you. Are you getting enough sleep?”
Her palm is always cool against my forehead, checking for fever like she did when I was five. Then she cups my cheek and frowns before nattering on about the Ministry working her baby too hard and not allowing time to recuperate from injuries.
I’ve grown accustomed to her being here when I get home, but today I'm late, and she's gone.
“I’m fine.”
Merlin, my voice echoes in here. Need some music...
My kitchen is always clean now. And I have all this food lying around. I don’t really feel like eating, so I gradually banish a good portion of it to the werewolf colony. Or where I think it is, anyway. If I send some every day, Mum thinks I’m eating.
One time I banished it all. She brought more and scolded.
I suppose I should see if anything looks appetizing.
What’s this? She knows I don’t cook eggs. Yuck.
We did something with eggs in Divination once. Ovomancy.
I need a glass of water. Perhaps the egg has some magical, miraculous answers and knows my future.
Silly, superstitious… Still, something to do; might be fun.
Please Merlin, let me see something good. I wish, I wish…
“Ow!” Crack.
“Buggering hell!”
Crushed. “A right effing mess.” Broken...
What’s a damned egg know anyway.
Stupid.
Why do I keep crying?
Pointless.
I want my mum...
Title: Fragile
Author: molly_coddles
Format and Word Count: drabblish, 290
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended to JKR or anyone else.
Summary: Which came first? Sometimes even grownup chicks need the comfort of a mother's wing.
A/N: Ovum ruptum est (“The egg is smashed”) is an ancient Roman expression for disaster.
Fragile
She did it again, damn it. Mum’s been in my flat; cleaning and stocking the pantry and cupboards. It would rankle, if I could summon the energy to care.
She pokes her nose in here almost daily, incessantly mothering. “Have you been eating, love? You know you need your vegetables. Bright-coloured vegetables are good for you. Are you getting enough sleep?”
Her palm is always cool against my forehead, checking for fever like she did when I was five. Then she cups my cheek and frowns before nattering on about the Ministry working her baby too hard and not allowing time to recuperate from injuries.
I’ve grown accustomed to her being here when I get home, but today I'm late, and she's gone.
“I’m fine.”
Merlin, my voice echoes in here. Need some music...
My kitchen is always clean now. And I have all this food lying around. I don’t really feel like eating, so I gradually banish a good portion of it to the werewolf colony. Or where I think it is, anyway. If I send some every day, Mum thinks I’m eating.
One time I banished it all. She brought more and scolded.
I suppose I should see if anything looks appetizing.
What’s this? She knows I don’t cook eggs. Yuck.
We did something with eggs in Divination once. Ovomancy.
I need a glass of water. Perhaps the egg has some magical, miraculous answers and knows my future.
Silly, superstitious… Still, something to do; might be fun.
Please Merlin, let me see something good. I wish, I wish…
“Ow!” Crack.
“Buggering hell!”
Crushed. “A right effing mess.” Broken...
What’s a damned egg know anyway.
Stupid.
Why do I keep crying?
Pointless.
I want my mum...