The Duckegg

The duckegg sat upon the table.

“Fresh from the duck,” smiled Mari.

It sat dully, cornflower blue in the deep golden light of the evening.

She looked at Rachael. Rachael sat staring at it, and would not say anything. Mari took the egg and cracked it into the pan. It broke apart, and in its mellow seams sat the keys to the world.

“Do eat something, Rachael,” said Mari.

But Rachael would not.

From the prompt “duckegg”. A little mood piece I wrote some weeks ago, and only just got round to putting up on here.