Do you always check the carton of eggs before you buy it? I would hazard that most of us do - especially if we've been burned before. And after opening the carton to find the offending egg, what do you do? You put it back down and find another. The broken egg is never wanted. Was it expecting to be?
The broken egg's only hope is a false hope: to remain undiscovered by one who either fails to open the carton or by one who takes too cursory an examination. The egg may rejoice in its initial selection but that only leaves it a far worse fate. Once the truth comes to light and the money has been paid, the egg's selector has ten times the fury had the discovery been made before the purchase. Better to have never been picked at all.
No one cares how or why the egg got cracked, only that it is. And it's a hellish life for the egg, waiting in agony in the dark, unopened carton. You know your truth but it's an undiscovered horror to the world. You're carted into the store just like all the other (worthy) eggs. Being fresh, you're placed behind the existing cartons to wait your turn to the front. You can't help but feel the excitement as the cartons ahead are carried away by satisfied customers. Oh, how you wish to be a part of that!
In the excitement of the despair, the urge of self-deception overwhelms you, begging you into relief from your dilemma. Maybe my cracking isn't so bad! Maybe someone can want me after all! After all, what egg is perfect? Or perhaps a soul of tenderness will find me and accept my damaged being into their life? My positivity can change reality. Pretend not to see my faults and no one else will either. Such are thoughts hatched in an unknowing dark.
"Oh, crap. This one's got a busted egg."
The carton is placed back in contempt. My carton mates are furious with me: I imposed my miserable fate upon their unblemished shells. The light has stripped away all my lies and eternal shame lay before me. Does no one want the cracked egg? Is redemption even possible? Can only death bring an end to my tormented existence?
Like a condemned prisoner waiting on a long-shot last-minute appeal, the egg awaits its verdict - knowing full well its guilty condition. Each second brings wretched hope of a stay of execution. Has someone taken pity on me? Why do they not come? It's closing time, the-powers-that-be have decided to let me live! Oh dear Lord, I've aged a lifetime waiting on this moment.
"Hey Harry, a customer complained about a busted egg in the one of the cartons. Throw the piece of crap out and replace it with a good one."
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