The sun melted into the horizon, the yolk of a sunny-side up egg. Tom preferred his eggs fried, which coincidentally was how he was feeling on his habitual walk through the hills of Newkansas. Oh, how lonely he felt at that moment, remembering that no eggs could ever reach his sparse meals, not after that horrible disaster. Funny, nothing quite tasted like chicken after it had disappeared. Life in East West Virginia would never be the same again.
“Curse you, world! Curse you Post Pre-Cambrian Explosion! Curse you who ended my love of Eggs Benedict!”
The yolk disappeared from view.
Oh! And that's not all. Good friend of this blog Diego posted one of my stories to his site. It's exclusive...ooh, ahh, so go check it out, as well as the many other great works of his gallery type showcase. Do it now!
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