My Cardboard Balcony

Detective Mason Found An Egg by Belinda Roddie Detective Mason found an egg beside the back door of the suspect's apartment. She examined it carefully and spied through the window for possible movement. When she deduced the place was empty, she analyzed the egg further, and she thought, "This must not be a normal egg. Let's see what's inside." She clawed at it, fingers hot, and tore away the shell. A sudden flash of gold lit up Detective Mason's eyes, as she stared at the secret, hidden stash of a golden orb carefully disguised as a chicken product. A clue, indeed! She slipped the prize beneath her jacket tweed.

No one expects the wrath of the self. The self that chews away at the marrow in your bones, and the doctors tell you that all you can do is appease it. Feed it drugs. Talk about it. Talk to it. Beg for it to stop. Nowhere do they teach you how to defang it - or train it to gnaw on something less vital to your sustenance. They don't teach you to hold the self and kiss it and tell it it's beautiful. Because then they wouldn't make money off of it.