“An Egg, an Ogg, and a Grog,” by TS Hendrik

Aug 20th, 2016 | By | Category: Fiction, Prose

Ogg and Grog strolled through the beautiful prehistoric environment. The sun was shining brightly, and the air warm, with just the slightest chance of Ice Age. All around the world seemed to be at peace.

“What a lovely day it is in 3000 B.C.,” Ogg proclaimed.

“B.C.? What’s that?” Grog asked.

“Before Christ. It’s the other one I can never remember.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Ogg Frowned. “Me neither. Hey, what’s that bird doing?”

The bird in question was hunkered down over a nest. Beads of sweat clung to its brow as it tried to squeeze something out. A few grunts later, and a white shelled offspring plopped out. The tired mother gazed upon it happily before falling into a well-earned sleep.

“I think that bird just pooped out a rock.” Grog exclaimed.

“Egg-mazing!” Ogg added.

The two circled in for a closer look. Ogg lifted the bird so that Grog could recover the precious stone. Once in hand, Ogg replaced the sleeping bird back on its nest. The two took turns holding the gem, twisting it every which way. Neither had ever seen a bird dropping quite like that.

“It’s a miracle,” breathed Grog.

“We should throw it at Matog,” said Ogg.

“Yes,” Grog agreed enthusiastically. “Let us throw poop at our friend, that we may laugh.”

And so the two set out on a great journey to visit their friend. Matog lived two hills over -A fair bit to walk. But that was alright. The day was perfect for walking. Along the way they managed to club no less than 20 animals. A good afternoon’s hunt for the boys.

When at last they crested the second hilltop, they could make out their friend down below. Matog was washing his loin cloth in the stream that ran beside his cave. A fire cracked and snarled next to his naked body. The two men did their best to sneak up on Matog so as not to alert him to their prank.

As soon as they got close enough, Ogg and Grog hollered at him. When he turned around, Ogg pelted him in the face. The stone split into pieces upon impact, dripping a yellow goo down his face. Matog scowled and was about to yell at them when a bit of the yellow ran into his mouth. He licked at it, pondering the taste.

“He’s eating the bird poop,” Ogg laughed.

“Not poop,” Matog responded. “Whatever it is though, it’s delicious.”

Ogg and Grog looked at each other, shrugged, then each dipped a finger in the yellow. As they tasted the goo off Matog’s face, their eyes brightened with the new flavor.

“That is one magical bird,” Grog stated.

“Egg-strodinary,” Ogg agreed.

“What are you talking about?” Matog grunted.

After they told Matog about the bird, he insisted on seeing it for himself. The three trekked back to where the bird was no longer nesting, but instead pondering its empty nest. Grog picked the bird up and turned it upside down. He poked at the belly hoping it would squeeze out another delightful stone. Instead the bird squawked angrily. Grog put it back down disappointed.

“Maybe it’s broken?” Ogg suggested,

Matog, clearly the scholar of the three suggested they wait till morning to see if it needed to recharge. They all agreed and left to their respective homes, intent on coming back in the morning. Each dreamed of tasting that stone again.

In the morning they found, just as Matog had theorized, a new stone, freshly pushed out by the sleeping bird. The three took it to Grog’s home, careful not to drop it. As they walked, each had to have his own turn holding the magic stone. Back at Grog’s they smashed it in a bowl. Ogg poked the yellow globe that came out. Amazingly, it popped. They each dipped their fingers in, enjoying the smooth, creamy, flavor.

“Amazing,” said Grog.

“Life changing,” nodded Matog.

“Egg-zistential,” Ogg rounded out.

It became a new ritual for them. Each morning they would gather and relieve the bird of its stone and eat it. The bird eventually became wise to them and periodically changed locations. This would cause them go on a special stone hunt.

“I wonder,” said Matog after collecting the stone one morning, “how it would taste if we put it over fire, like with meat?”

Carefully they set about using the stone bowl to cook it. After they tasted it, there was no going back. From then on it was always cooked. However they were beginning to run into a new problem. Ogg, Grog, and Matog were three large men. Splitting one magic stone was hardly satisfying.

They decided the solution would be to leave the bird alone for a while. Let it build up a stack of magic stones which they would then eat together one Sunday morning, as a special occasion. Not for breakfast, and not for Lunch, but a special meal between the two.

When the three of them did return to the nest, they found something they never expected. Instead of the stockpile of stones they were expecting, they found the bird standing over just one. Astoundingly, the stone was cracking and something was coming out of the stone. Little by little a beak poked and nipped till after a last big burst, out toppled a tiny chick.

“The magic stone makes baby birds,” Matog said in wonder.

“Did not see that coming,” Grog added.

“My sentiments Egg-zactly,” said Ogg.

The other two turned to Ogg.

“Why you keep doing that?” Grog asked.

“What?” Ogg queried back.

“Saying “Egg” all the time when pronouncing words,” Matog replied.

“Have I? Egg? I didn’t realize. Maybe it’s the magic stone making me do it.”

Grog nodded. “Makes sense. In that case, I suggest we call the stone an Egg.”

They all agreed. They also decided to leave the chick be. They reasoned that if the egg would produce more birds, eventually there’d be lots of eggs with more chick-liquid to eat. On the walk back home, Matog was particularly vexed. As they neared Grog’s cave, he decided to speak what was on his mind:

“Which came first?” he asked the other two.

“How do you mean?” Grog asked back.

“Well, if the bird comes from the egg and they egg from the bird, which one comes first?”

Neither had an answer for him. But that night, all three of them lay awake in their beds, unable to sleep.


Defenestration-TS HendrikTS Hendrik has been writing online for several years, mostly for his site The Non-Review. He was born a week early, plans to die a week late, and in the meantime can be found on twitter @NotNotTSHendrik mostly tweeting bad jokes.

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