It was a cold, cloudy afternoon in the city of XXXX. The sky hung low over the stone streets, and the wind moved slowly through narrow alleys between dark buildings.
In the middle of a sloped cobblestone road lay a man.
He was not dead but barely moved, many who passed might have thought so—. His body was turned to the side. His eyes fixed on the base of a streetlight and blinked slowly, again and again.
Beside him sat a cracked egg.
The shell had cracked unevenly across the stones, its pale interior smeared across the ground. White yolk spread thinly through mixed with dirt and dust. Among the pieces of shell lay something small—a winged embryo. It was fragile, unfinished, but it twitched slightly, trying to move, trying to live.
Sometimes, the man on the ground stared at it.
His face was empty, almost expressionless, except for the slow wet trails of tears sliding down the sides of his tear duck into the road.
He cried without sound. No shaking shoulders. No trembling breath. Only tears falling silently onto the same stones that held the broken egg.
Near his head stood a dented trash can, tilted slightly to one side. The wind pushed its loose lid so it tapped softly against the metal.
People walked past.
Boots scraped against stone. Dresses brushed through puddles. Conversations drifted by like smoke. None of them slowed. None of them stopped. The man on the ground and the half-born creature beside him might as well have been another crack in the pavement.
An old woman paused.
She stepped closer, her shadow falling across the broken shell. For a moment her face softened, as though she might kneel, as though she might speak.
But the man beside her grabbed her arm.
"Leave it," he muttered. His voice carried the tired certainty of someone who had long ago stopped expecting anything from the world. "It's useless."
He pulled her away before she could ask.
The crowd swallowed them.
The man on the ground took a shallow breath.
Another passerby approached later—a thin man in a grey coat. He glanced down briefly, frowned, and then tossed a small water bottle beside the silent figure as if dropping a coin into a fountain.
The bottle rolled once, tapped against the man's shoulder, and stopped.
No one said thank you.
Not long after, a heavier man trudged through the street, drunk on something darker than wine. Without slowing his stride, he stepped forward and crushed the fragile embryo beneath his boot.
There was a faint sound.
The tiny wings stopped moving.
The man on the ground blinked again.
And then the rain began.
At first it was light, just small drops touching the stones. But soon it grew heavier.
The yolk dissolved first, thinning into pale streaks that vanished between the cobbles. Fragments of the shell slid into the gutters.
The bottle that had been offered to him began to roll away, nudged by the slow current of rainwater until it disappeared down the slope of the road.
The people on the road began to walk faster, seeking a place of comfort.
The man on the ground still did not rise.
Rain soaked through his clothes, darkening them until he seemed part of the street itself. Water ran down his face, mixing with the tears that never stopped.
Minutes passed.
Boots brushed his shoulder as the crowd pushed through the rain.
Mimutes passed.
Then someone stepped on his shirt.
Minutes passed.
Then someone stepped on his arm.
Minutes passed.
Then someone with an umbrella walked over, unhurried.
Minutes passed.
Then someone stepped on his hair.
Minutes passed.
Then someone stepped on the embryo.
Minutes passed.
Then someone stepped on his arm.
Minutes passed.
Then someone stumbled over his leg and cursed under their breath.
Minutes passed.
A cart wheel rolled too close, splashing dirty water across the man's face and clothes.
The man on the ground still barely moved.
Then someone stopped.
An old man paused.
He rested on a walking stick, letting it take most of his weight as the rain fell harder around him. He looked down at the man on the ground.
"The egg.... Do you understand now? the stranger said aloud, more to the rain than to the body beneath him.
Silence answered.
The man on the ground did not respond.
The stranger squinted at him, confused by the stillness.
"Nonsense," he muttered bitterly, shaking his head.
Again—no answer.
Only the sound of rain hammering harder against the road.
For several long minutes the two figures remained like that: one standing, one lying, both surrounded by a city that continued to move without noticing either of them.
The rain thickened until the street blurred into grey.
Finally the stranger sighed, crouched down, and grabbed the silent figure by the legs.
"Get off the road," he said with a loud, impatient sigh.
He began dragging him across the wet cobblestones, boots slipping slightly as the rain turned the street into a slick mirror.
And suddenly—
The man on the ground moved.
His body jerked to life as if pulled from deep water. One hand shot upward and shoved the stranger's arm away with unexpected force.
The stranger staggered back a step.
"What the hell—" his voice rising.
Before he could finish his sentence, irritation twisted across his face. Whatever fragile curiosity he had felt vanished instantly.
"Bastard," with the same tone of voice.
His boot struck the man's ribs.
Once.
Twice.
Then again, harder.
Each kick landed with a dull thud against soaked fabric and bone. The man on the ground curled slightly but made no sound—only those same silent tears mixing now with rainwater running across his face.
A photo of a woman slipped out of his pocket.
The man on the ground quickly grabbed it and put it back into his pocket.
The stranger saw the photo and stopped. He let out a slow sigh then asked the man on the ground "Lift your face." Their eyes met. The stranger held his gaze for a second before speaking.
"Go back to your home, or I'll hit you harder." He said quietly.
The stranger face is scary.
The man on the ground face is wierd???.
People continued to pass.
Umbrellas drifted by dark flowers. Cloaks brushed against one another. No one stopped.
The rain grew heavier.
And somewhere beneath the storm, the broken shell of the egg had already disappeared. The embryo had been crushed beneath passing feet, leaving nothing but scraps of flesh that slowly washed away by the rain. As though it had never existed at all.
Minutes passed.
The man on the ground still did not respond to the stranger.
Minutes passed.
The man on the ground did not respond to the stranger.
Minutes passed.
The man on the ground lowers his head, then blinks again.
A room. A warm room filled with candle light. Outside, the rain falls steadily against the windows. The man who had been on the ground now sits on a chair, holding the small embryo carefully in his hands. The tiny wing twitching faintly as the candle light flickers around them.
The man on the ground face is wierd???.
And it was a cold, cloudy afternoon in the city of XXXX. The sky hung low over the stone streets, and the wind moved slowly through narrow alleys between dark buildings.