La Petite Vie de Belle

  The blue veins spider-legged through the translucent yellow-tinted egg. Belle's sinuous neck curved to accomodate the tear-shaped home, for it was her home and not a bad home as homes go. It protected Belle, from the unknown outside of the egg. The egg had a yoke that warmed Belle, and never dipped in temperature. There were times when the yoke became so warm that Belle found her heart so touched she could barely breathe, and at those times the egg seemed small. But, she could not complain for her egg had never failed her; there was always an abundance of warmth, no pollutants were ever allowed in, and she could see the land around her egg.

  In the darkness Belle was kept warm in her egg, but her favorite time was when the Golden Egg would arrive in the Great Blue. Belle would gaze as the Golden Egg would glide around her own egg, and everyday there was a moment when this beautiful egg seemed to be right on top of Belle's. At that exact moment Belle would feel a different kind of warmth than the kind her yoke gave to her in every other moment. It was lulling and strangely sweet, and Belle would strain her umbrella-shaped neck to look upon the Golden Egg, unobstructed by the blue veins and yellow tint of her shell. How different it is! A gold similar to the yellow of her egg yet had some kind of lustor that is so foreign, and a warmth that reached like fingers that petted over her rather than the warmth of her yoke that blanketed over her. O, Belle woud close her eyes and feel. Then, the moment would be gone. Lost, until the next moment when the Golden Egg would return the following day. Belle waited eagarly for those moments, every day, and counted the seconds until she could chance closing her eyes.

  It is one of those moments, the moments Belle anticipated everyday and strained her neck to see the world against the Golden Egg, that it happened. Belle was straining to see the world that is so removed from her own, when she wondered if the world outside could see her world inside. Then the Golden Egg began to glide to it's spot, and the warm fingers began to pet over Belle, and she closed her eyes. Today the warmth seemed special somehow, it was not warmer, no that is not it. Belle struggled to work it out. The warmth's fingers seemed to somehow dance in her belly and bring in a rush of something. Belle began to squirm and smiled in her beak, and opened it and...ah. Oh, what is that? I don't know but it sounded like a sound. A sound that I can make. I can make a sound! It is not a good sound, but it is my sound!

  Belle's joy at her sound was quickly muffled as yoke rushed into her beak, and what nasty tasting yoke. But, what did it matter that no one but her could hear the sound? Yet, as Belle opened her eyes and looked to the Golden Egg she knew that it did matter. If only the Golden Egg could her her sound. Would this beatiful egg make a sound back? Could it? What did it matter to make sounds to yourself if it makes no difference? And Belle felt a new feeling, and was surprised as some water escaped her black-bead eyes. She did not like the feel of cold water gliding down her face and closed her eyes against it. And just like that, the moment was gone.

  The moment left and so did thoughts of the treacherous Golden Egg, for Belle did not want to dwell on such things. However, after the great darkness and the emerging light the Golden Egg returned to skate across the blue. Belle could not resist as the warm-tethered fingers began their massage on her tarry feathers. The moment of golden warmth was about to lull her when she felt the excitement in her belly again, and she squaked against her yoke once more. But, this time she felt herself flap her wings. What is this? She bumped her forehead against the yellow shell of her egg, and instantly felt ridiculous. She had flapped herself into an uncomfortable position, and she had learned it is better to stay in her exact position rather than move around if she were to be comfortable in her egg. But, the excitement from the warmth had not passed and she couldn't contain it. Belle flapped again and this time she bumped the curved top of her head against the dome of her egg, but at the same time heard a CRACK. Quickly, Belle flipped her head to one side and saw a small sliver, as small as the moments usually are, and felt a warmth she had never felt before. Again she flapped and sliver widened and in came a new gold, as pure as nothing Belle had seen before, and out poured some of her yoke. Belle watched it ooze and drip from the sliver, and an instant of fear greeted Belle. It begged her to stay where she was for certainly to break one's home is a sin, for what would happen next? What would happen next?

  Belle's moment had not passed yet, and the excitement resurged inside her belly. Belle once again flapped and another sliver appeared on the other side of her egg. Again and again and again. Flapping her tarry feathers. Belle's body was thrown against every blue vein that spidered in the yellow of her shell, and weariness was setting in. However, Belle continued to flap for she knew her moment could end in any instant and would not waste any of them. Fear constantly kneeled before her to and entreated her to quit, yet the pure gold that steeled itself inside her egg cheered her on. Finally, with a final flap the shell of her good home crumbled.

  The beak she had once feared could not make sound that could be heard, now opened and gasped for yoke. But, none came and instead her squack could be heard as far as she could see. What she saw when she looked around was a desert of eggs just like hers. At her talons were a brown grain, sand she would call it. As she gazed across the brown sand and at the other eggs a great sadness entered her, and it was not warm and not cold. Sadness, what does it feel like? Belle cocked her head and looked at herself instead. Her wings were great tarry things with orange claws at the ends, and she revered them. For it was through them that she had broken from all that she knew. It was the excitement from the Golden Egg's fingers.

  The Golden Egg! Quickly she glanced up and saw that it had stopped skating and waited patiently in the sky. She wanted to gaze inside and see what kind of bird lived there. It must be a beautiful bird that didn't squack but sang, and it must have feathers of red and blue or maybe even white. This bird must have a graceful neck that doesn't curl back on itself, but stretches and curls like the slivers from her broken shell. Perhaps, her eyes are not a beaded black but a dark green or blue shaped like the sand which her talons stand.

  Belle would find out and she began to race across the sand and flap her large dark wings. Before she could think she felt a cool breeze kiss her face. It was not warmth but it was not unpleasant. She threw her head back and laughed and began to flap faster. Belle would make it to the Golden Egg before it glided across the blue. For a brief instant Belle looked below at the eggs of the desert.

  The other birds in their eggs watched as the black bird streaked across the sky the bright blue towards the Golden Egg. Up and up she raced, this hideous bird of nior tar and darkness, and did not slow down. Every unborn chic watched Belle approach the Golden Egg and touch it, only to fall just as quickly from it as she had flown to it. Not before they heard her sound, which was not a squack but a long note of the purist light any of them had ever heard.