The Wall

The Wall: His Side of the Story

Amy Nelson

I usually just mind my own business. I don't move. I don't get in anyone's way. I've heard some say that I am dangerous. I don't know if I'd go as far to say that about myself.

The egg, He wouldn't say much. From my understanding he wasn't having the best of mornings. Someone wanted to either cook him up, scramble him, or even worse ... fertilize the old yolk.

It was the least I could do, he needed a place of solitude and I provided. If I would've known the king's horses, the king's men, the Nursery Rhyme Committee, and most of the world for the rest of forever would get involved, I would've insisted he find a new place to sort out his psychological complexes.

No one forced the athletically challenged, fragile creature to scale my rough, rocky sides and sit upon me 5 feet above the ground.

The wind was still, the earth was still, and most importantly I was still; still as a stone wall. The egg, he fell, suddenly without warning.

If you ask me, he meant to fall. And he meant to fall far enough and hard enough that no one, not even all the king's horses and all the king's men would be able to save him.