Happy Feet Egg Time Novels & Stories

[Ona] Ah, it’s time. Finally The crisp sound of two eggs rolling into one another as they rattle in their nest makes my heart race as I sit up straight, wrapping my tail around them. I’ve never been this close to hatchlings. Even when Carnelia hatched her eggs, I was in the next room.

I sat up, heart racing. "What's wrong? Is it the baby? Are you" "Chicken feet," Bella said. I stared at her in the dark, my frame frozen. "What?" "I need chicken feet." She was sitting up beside me, fully awake, absolutely serious. "Right now, Caleb. I need them right now." I looked at the time on my phone. Two-fourteen in the morning. "Bella." "I know what time it is." "It's two in the morning." "I know." She looked at me with her eyes completely steady and utterly unapologetic. "I need chicken feet."

She sat down and extended her hand to touch them, they stood there obediently. “Are you pregnant?” Mira thought out loud as she felt the bumps while she was rubbing the belly. “Interesting….” Mira nodded. She decided to try with her hen. She quietly came out of space and went to the kitchen to check how many eggs there were 14 eggs. She left two for Jack and put the rest in space. She quietly opened the door and went to the coop. The hen was resting; she quietly opened the door and tossed it in space before coming back.

Damien gets Hope, I get Lily, we reconvene in the kitchen where the coffee maker starts automatically at six because we programmed it three days after moving in and it is the single best decision we have ever made as a household. He makes eggs on Tuesdays and Thursdays because he decided to have days and to get good at something specific on those days. I handle Monday, Wednesday, Friday because I am marginally faster and we are both competitive enough that speed matters even in breakfast logistics. Weekends are Maya's domain when she visits, which is often. When she's not here, weekends are scrambled eggs and whatever fruit Hope is currently obsessed with, which changes weekly with no warnin

Eleven months later Pepper Betty stands above us on the stairs to watch as our son is born. It's been several hours since the egg began cracking. Tahr is beside me as we behold our miracle. At first, a small claw working against the shell is all we see. Our boy is chipping away at the egg from the inside. The small chirp like noise our son makes warms my heart. The hardest thing to do is to keep from tearing the outer shell away and pulling him against me.

"Your heartbeat just spiked to one-eighty. What did you find?" "There is an egg under Times Square," Jack said, his voice surprisingly steady for a man who had just discovered that the most famous intersection in the world was sitting on top of a cosmic horror's nursery. "Approximately sixty feet in diameter. Composed of crystallized time and void-language instructions. It has been incubating since before the asteroid killed the dinosaurs." Silence on the comms. Then Ben's voice, cracking with a specific brand of financial horror. "Please tell me that is a metaphor."

Sam picked pickle juice while Let picked a raw egg. After them, it was Ryan and Vicky's turn. They failed the first two turns because Ryan kept messing up and it honestly looked like Vicky's the only one trying. After five minutes of slipping and Ryan groaning in complaint, they failed to transfer a single egg. Ryan was punished with a blended raw chicken and we quietly cheered for that, while Vicky picked a vinegar. Natasha and Zyke successfully transferred five eggs in less than five minutes. Maybe because they were both flexible with Natasha being a gymnast and Zyke a rugby player.

Seems like Myla may be becoming less of a rude brat, patting her head as I passed to exchange the pleasantries. Taking a larger egg from the fridge, I lit the stove and dropped the pan. I needed to have fully eaten if I wanted to be active in the Hunt. I broke the egg into the pan just when it heated about enough and watched at the transparents slowly turned translucent before turning into the whites and the yolk hardened as the heat got to the egg. Using the spatula, I took the large spread egg and some bread from the kitchen cabinet, drawing back the seat beside Myla and digging in beside Myla.

To make these Scotch eggs, she'd need to boil the eggs, peel them, wrap them in seasoned chicken, coat them with breadcrumbs, and fry them until golden brown. Elara's notes added specific details as well. Harvey liked soft-boiled eggs, which required five minutes of boiling and three minutes of frying over low heat. Meanwhile, Beau preferred fully cooked eggs that needed eight minutes of boiling and four minutes of frying. Mary hurriedly asked, "Mrs. Fisher, when are you coming back?" This method of cooking eggs was way too complicated. Mary thought Elara could just make them when she returned. "I'm not coming back." "What?" Mary was stunned, but Elara's calm voice came through the phone.

Pepper on the yolk. It was a specific, neurotic, difficult way to cook an egg. It was how Elion’s mother used to make them on rainy Tuesdays before school. Cale knew this not because Elion had told him, but because he had watched Elion try to recreate it in Timeline 14. He had watched Elion cry over a burnt pan in Timeline 33 because he couldn't get the texture right. This is cheating, Cale’s conscience whispered. You're using memories he doesn't have.