Egg

A Chapter by AtypicalEmily

Divine & Bitchy.

A true story written and seen through the eyes of

Emily G.

Chapter 1: Egg

My life seems to fade away. Fade into this darkness that we all call hell. This isn’t hell. This is reality, and it’s a b***h. My name is Emily and I’m a college student. Typical, right? I’m a 19 year old who loves to watch Netflix, hang out with my friends and eat relentlessly without any regret. You could say I’m the stereotype of your average college student but I beg to differ. I’m constantly faced with the worst situations I can ever seem to place myself in, purposefully or coincidentally. Let’s start from square one; utero.

I once was an egg that was then fertilized by some deadbeat (ironic, huh?) spermicide. Bam, twenty-nine weeks and four days later the Earth welcomed their not-so-special potato looking baby- Me. I just so happened to be born the day after my mother’s birthday so I gave her the delightful surprise of harboring labor pains for thirty two hours. She hated me from the moment she laid eyes on me, joke. She loves me. Fast forward to three years and you can now envision that I’m a toddler. I started to learn how to say full sentences, run my little legs till chaffing was evident, and make sure my parents knew that my tantrums were, in deed, intentional.

Growing up I faced a lot of turmoil. It all lead back to my parents. They were constantly arguing about money. Money, money, money. It is most definitely the root of all evil, and on rare occasion good, but mostly evil. I always thought I was the problem and that I needed to fix it myself. What really started to fuel the fire was when my sister, Elizabeth, was born. She was very premature and her body was not developed fully to where they could keep her in the NICU for days on end. My mother and father had to say goodbye to their little girl too soon. Not to worry though, she’s dancing with the angels and full of life. I can remember holding her tiny, translucent and pinky flesh colored body. Oh how I loved her. I dreamt for so long to have a sister of my own. To share my toys with her, teach her new things, and love her unconditionally. That never happened. The moment I realized she wasn’t going to be staying with us was the day of her funeral. I sluggishly walked into church. In front of the pulpit was a small table made of feeble wood with a soft pink casket displayed atop. I was tall for my age so I could see into that very pretty pink box. There she was. There was my sister, Elizabeth, just as I remembered her; pink and tiny. Her outfit was from the local Walmart from the toy section. This particular dress was meant to fit a teddy bear but Elizabeth did it more justice than a hairy ole’ bear. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my mother hysterically crying. She could breathe, she couldn’t make eye contact with me. “Why, oh why is she ignoring me?” I thought over and over in my head. Why was she so sad? Why was she wearing black? Why was I wearing black? My favorite color was blue at the time so I would wear nothing but blue. For some reason, earlier that day I obliged to wearing this black cotton dress.

I didn’t really question anything much after that. I just lived life easily in the comfort of my Rugrat bedspread eating ramen noodle (beef flavor, booyah!) while watching Berenstein bears. My life then came to another halt; another egg was fertilized and here comes my brand spanking new sibling, Beth.