this is that thing where i was going to write about humpty dumpty becoming a golden egg a la gandalf the white. i last edited this in april.
Scattered across the packed dirt and swimming in viscid egg white, a few smaller, outlying shards trembling in the zephyr, Humpty Dumpty’s splintered shell ached and ached. Against his will, his life force remained intact and centered in his broken yolk. He longed for a raven to alight upon the ground and peck him into nonexistence, but the sweet reprieve did not come.
He had lain there for endless hours. His thoughts as broken as his body, he knew that he would give anything to end the pain. Robbed of voice and mobility, he was cursed to wait for the end.
An unknown amount of time after the initial great fall, he sensed another consciousness near, one not his own. Oh, how he wished to call out- to scream for the being to end his pain. Without a tongue, he was nothing but a subject to the will of others.
The creature spoke then, and the ill-fated egg did not know how he heard, but he accepted it with the easy submission of one so close to death.
“You were sitting on the wall, then?” The voice was tinted with the gentle amusement acquired when one traveled far and wide for many eons and saw all there was to see: each famine and war and pestilence that tore through civilizations as a hot brand tears through flesh.
In that moment, Humpty saw all this, and though he did not know how he saw, he accepted this too.
The voice came again, playful and facetious. “It’s alright. Don’t feel pressured to entertain my redundant questions.”
Having seen what the speaker knew, Humpty understood it did not expect him to respond. This was one that conversed with itself in the stillest hours of night, perhaps because nobody else would speak, perhaps because it derived enjoyment from its own company and thoughts. In any case, it did not need a second voice to carry a conversation.
“I can help you out, if you want.”
Oh, he wanted. How he wanted.