Stone

My father gave me the stone. He told me that it was a fossilised dinosaur egg and I loved that idea - at first just because it was part of the dinosaur world which I was so crazy about. But, later, I liked the idea of something that was as new and young as an egg and as dead and old as a fossil.

It was, of course, not a dinosaur egg at all - just an egg-shaped rock. But I kept it because it was pleasing to hold and because it reminded me of my father. But, sometimes, when I've held it in my hand long enough for it to warm up and I can feel my own blood pumping around it, it is my father's dinosaur egg again.

Ready to hatch.