Flawed

There once was an egg.

This egg was a bit different from the others. It wasn't clean and smooth, but pitted and dirty. It wore the memory of its history, its birth and its life, on the outside like a badge for all to see.

This egg found it hard to be different. But she tried to own it, imperfections and all.

But she was scared. Scared her imperfections would mean she would be thrown out, or that someone would try to scrub her clean. That in doing so they would crack her fragile shell.

I mean it of course.

Not she.

It was just an egg, after all.

Silly me.