Daily story, December 9, 2024

There had been something about a chicken. It had been red, or gold, or purple: some colour suggesting luxury. And though it hadn’t laid golden eggs, he had been certain it would bring him prosperity. Wise eggs, was the phrase in his mind. Wisdom eggs. It hadn’t been a dream. It was a thought from that half-awake state where new things seem true, which made it hard to shake off. He knew that he probably ought to. But he didn’t want to let the promise of the chicken go.