Short Story – The Egg 🥚

The Egg

A short Easter story

by Cameron Brtnik

*Kid’s Easter Eggtivity: Your kids can read or listen along to find the hidden “Easter eggs” throughout the story – circle any words besides egg with the word “egg” in it – and win a sweet Easter prize! (*Send answers to Cameron at by Monday April 18, ‘22. Prize will be awarded in person or via post!)*

The Egg


…and as the boy went to put it in his basket he had the nagging feeling that this egg was special, and so he paused for just the briefest moment, then put it in his pocket…

The hiding spots were good, but not so good as to be unfindable; the hunt was for the children after all. Hiding places included a bowl of fruit, the corner of a picture frame, underneath the couch, concealed in the cushions, under the brass dinner bell, resting on a window sill, hiding in the drapes, resting next to a chair legg or conspicuously behind a door. Some were even in plain sight, though I suspect those were for the adults. Many were in groups of four, five or six, depending on how many of us kids took part. The unbreggable rule was to: “Only take one and leave the rest for the others.” (Though I am certain that rule was broken once or twice. It was also common practice to “lift” some eggs from someone else’s basket, if not just to even out the odds. At least I believe it was common practice…)

The Egg
August 3, 2021

Agnus found it while she was vacuuming – she felt a conspicuous bump bump as the old Hoover struggled to pass over it. She looked down at the tiny obstacle but she instinctively knew what it was…

Agnus eleggantly bent down – not an easy task for someone her age, yet for her a manoeuvre as effortless as breathing, doubtlessly from all her years of gardening and tending to her beloved flowers. There was at least a month to go before the cool, briskness of fall would promise to wipe away all of her hard work. She reached under the radiator, her hand passing through cobwebs of long ago-sucked up spiders, and felt it: a hard, rounded, metallic object. She pulled it out and nimbly grasped it in her spindly fingers, “Where have you been hiding little guy?” Agnus delicately fondled the silvery egg in her hand checking for any ireggularities or signs it had been nibbled at by a sweet-toothed critter. Despite being faintly discoloured with age and hard as a stone, it had survived eggsentially unscathed during its time in hiding (what looked to be an era). She turned the egg looking for any markings revealing some tiny print on the bottom – what she could make out as a date: 1981. “Oh my,” she gasped. “That would make this old as my eldest grandson!” Memories suddenly flooded her mind like an ocean tide of Easters past…

The Hunt

The grandkids had arrived – the word of another eggciting Easter hunt in the air, eggerly bouncing about in anticipation like bunnies hopped up on chocolate, no time for family formalities, Let the hunt begin! With baskets assigned, the day’s winner would find and retrieve more eggs than their fellow candy hunters, their own basket full to the brim, the prize of showing off their shining achievement to the others with the knowledge that they were special and obviously had a talent for this sort of thing, and could then revel in their rabbit’s share of the chocolate.

Eggnus shook her head and let out a giggle. My time flies… Her attention was drawn back to the tiny object in her hand. The strange thing was that the egg hadn’t been in any particular hiding place – under the radiator where many other eggs like it had been hidden – yet it somehow managed to dodge every foraging and scavenging hand, or ultimately being melted to death. This egg was special, Agnus felt sure of it. Perhaps not upon first inspeggtion. One must first peel off the wrapper to get to the chocolatey goodness after all. The egg had finally been captured from its cave where it had comfortably been in hiding all these years; plucked from the safety of darkness now eggsposed in all its golden glory; had all but forgotten that once long ago it had been delivered by the Easter Bunny, its purpose to bring joy and happiness to a child. Sure it had some wear and tear: its wrapper was torn in one spot; the gold tint slightly discoloured; its insides now hardened like chocolate lava rock (hard enough you’d chip your tooth if you bit into it!), but an egg just as good as the rest. Perhaps there was nothing special about this curious little egg after all.

The children would always search the place more thoroughly than an FBI inveggstigation, scouring every nook and cranny, upstairs and downstairs, making sure every last darn Easter egg was found. A childish challenge of wits, “Children vs the Easter Bunny,” the ultimate game of hide and seek. Thinking that they had snatched up every last chocolate egg that could be found, every year Agnus would inevitably find some lone stregglers cleaning up and snicker to herself, The Easter Bunny has outsmarted you kids eggain!, something she’d bring up “in passing” at the next family gathering: “Guess what I found vacuuming the other day?” The children would be egghast, each certain they had checked every possible hiding place, There could be no eggs left, IMPOSSIBLE! It must’ve fallen out of one of our baskets by eggsident. Agnus giggled at the thought, and reasoned that one thoughtful Higirl or boy, staring down at his own basket overflowing with chocolate goodies, realized that he already had enough and that this singular, inconsequential egg would not make a difference in his life but it might to another less fortunate child, desperately clinging to a much emptier basket – and so in a moment of glucose-induced generosity, willfully put it back in its original hiding spot. I suppose anything is possible.

Agnus wistfully chuckled out loud, shaking her head as she lovingly caressed the egg as if it contained a live chick. Her hands cupped around it, her skin resembling the thin, delicate membrane of an embryonic egg. No, she now felt certain this egg was somehow chosen, purposely, to make the ultimate sacrifice: spending the remainder of its days alone, hoping to be found yet every time evading detection, as Easters and seasons passed, year in and year out, steadily growing colder and harder yet always maintaining its inherent sweetness; for at its core it was still chocolate after all.

Agnus rolled the egg around in her hand, the foil still clinging on to its hardened core protecting it like a metallic skin. She continued to ponder, What made this egg so special? Nothing in particular, she supposed. Sure it had survived longer than the average Easter egg, and this egg had made it eggainst all odds. But it was, in the end, just an ordinary egg, but for one difference: it had persevered. This egg had defied all eggspectations. Of course, it was not conscious. That would be silly, Agnus reasoned. (Although she had to admit that her current predicament – talking aloud to a chocolate egg – was not much less). Yet somehow the egg seemed to be aware of its own eggsistence… Indifferent to Agnus’ thoughts, the egg rolled around comfortably in her palm.

As Agnus stood there enjoying the stillness of late afternoon, the sun’s rays penetrated the living room window forming a perfect patch of sunlight she could feel like a warm hug. She contemplated what to do with the egg: Throw it away? Keep it as proof to show her grandkids? Or put it back to see if this tenacious little guy might stick around a while longer? Or…eat it? No, better not take any chances. Agnus worried: If she put the egg back would it ever be found again? Or would it live out the rest of its days eggsisting yet never really coming out of

The Egg was solid – its crystalline structure gave it a natural protection that prevented it from melting and becoming soft (as long as it avoided the heat like that secret nook under the radiator). Being entirely smooth meant that it remained motionless, never venturing out beyond that sliver of light, which kept it safe from the outside world of booming footsteps and rush hour traffic. It could live on peacefully egging out its days uneaten in obscurity… Naturally, this meant that The Egg would never fulfill its true purpose and bring joy to a child, and would never be truly appreciated for all its sweet, chocolatey goodness.

While contemplating over the fate of the remarkable little egg, a question came to Agnus’ mind, and the same one she posed to her grandchildren every year: “What is the real meaning of Easter?” She reminded them of the importance of asking oneself this question – somewhere between inhaling a basket of choccy eggs and devouring the ears off a hapless, chocolate rabbit of course. Just then, it was as if the little angels were right there in the room with her. Agnus could see all their happy little faces with chocolate-smudged cheeks beaming up at her so she stretched out her left hand and started listing them: “The resurreggtion of Jesus Christ and His sacrifice for us.” Agnus felt a warmth well up inside her and she raised her index, the first and foremost finger. She continued: “Being with loved ones and family,” and she cautiously unfurled her middle finger, the one she normally reserved for special occasions. The childrens’ faces were beaming even brighter, and so she moved on: “Bringing joy to my grandchildren,” and with tears in her eyes she delicately outstretched her ring finger, her silvery wedding band a symbol of love. There was still one more finger to go, but Agnus struggled to think of another reason… She rubbed her pinky for just a moment, then it came to her: “Easter is…a celebration of rejoicing in life!” Satisfied, she grasped her fingers in the crux of her right hand and squeezed onto them, thinking of those moments in time that go by so quickly if you blink you’d miss them, and held on for just a moment longer…

Agnus made up her mind; she took the egg, now slightly warm and soft from her hands, and put it back in its rightful spot where it would remain, tucked away for years to come as generations passed, until one day it would be found by a child on Easter morning, eyes lit up at the precious relic, and as the boy went to put it in his basket he had the negging feeling that this egg was special, and so he paused for just the briefest moment, then put it in his pocket where he forgot about it and the egg melted into blissful oblivion.

The Egg.


Dear Reader,

Do not feel sad, for you see this tenacious little egg was not lost but finally found.

– Dedicated to my wonderful family, each of you as unique and special as The Egg –

Thesaurus of Easter Eggs:
The Egg


Poetry Corner – Rain


I feel like today is a good day to write..

The patter of rain in the background
the soundtrack to my lyrics

The gentle thunder
like rumblings from within

Calm yet restless
darkness with brief flashes of light

My heart pours onto the page
bursting from heavy purple rain clouds

A seemingly endless reservoir
flowing from a broken dam

Now lulling me off to sleep
till it just becomes white noise

Infusing with my dreams
washing away my worries

CamsBLOG: Why I Get Up Early On a Sunday (and You Should Too!)


These Boots Are Made For Hiking Meetup

Why I Get Up Early On a Sunday

(and You Should Too!)

Ah, Sundays… The perfect day to hit snooze, sleep in another couple hours, and finally get up only to transport your slothful behind from your cozy bed to your nearly-as-comfy couch. Or perhaps you reserve Sunday as your “chore day” where you can finally get around to cleaning that pigsty you call a house. Productive, right? Wrong! Try this instead: set your alarm for 7am, brew a fresh pot of coffee, have a cold shower, pack a healthy lunch and go “take a hike!” Specifically with These Boots Are Made For Hiking, a hiking Meetup I discovered during covid lockdown.

“What’s a Meetup?” I can hear you asking. Here’s the definition right off their website: “Meetup is a platform for finding local communities to meet new people, learn new things, find support, get out of their comfort zones, and pursue their passions together.” I couldn’t have said it better myself. I myself have been a member on Meetup for years and have attended the odd event, but I truly discovered its power this year during lockdown. Like most people, I was going through a tough time – isolation, boredom, depression – and through the power of Meetup I discovered all sorts of groups that connected me with others dealing with the same crap. Those Meetups helped me get out of my “uncomfortable zone,” beat loneliness, and provided that much-needed motivation I was desperately seeking.

“These Boots Are Made For Hiking” is a Meetup group started by Sherry Bagnato, aka “Dear Woo Woo girl,” a Toronto-based author, podcaster and hiker extraordinaire. When asked why she started this group, she replied: “I tried organizing hikes with friends, but our plans always fell through. I started These Boots to get a group of motivated people together every week!”  And boy, did it work. It started off as a modest group – about 10 members – and has grown to around 40 regular walkers! The skill levels involved are anything from beginner to “moderately challenging” meaning that anyone, age or experience, is able to join. I’ve met people from all “walks of life” (pardon the pun): from the spry and sporty to retirees; from students and newcomers to Canada to those needing the exercise or looking to get closer to nature; or folks just looking to fill up a Sunday afternoon. There are even trekkers who brave the trails as a form of physical therapy. For myself, these hikes have been an excellent form of mental health therapy; I always feel better (or otherwise exhausted) after a hike, and I’ve found it’s a positive and motivating way to start off the week! Whatever the reason for joining, I believe we all have one thing in common: a sense of “finding connection.”

I’ve had a great many conversations with my fellow hikers, and they all have something unique and enlightening to share. These hikes are also a great chance for networking.  Each week we choose a new location to brave, reachable either by public transit or a short drive (and always generous drivers willing to carpool for those who need a ride). We hit up all sorts of hiking trails: some through canopied forests, others through rollicking fields, treks up mountainous bluffs and down winding, wooden staircases – hikes for any challenge level you’re looking for! If this sounds intimidating, no need to fret; the group breaks off into smaller groups so that you’ll always find members who are more “your speed.” And of course we take breaks to rest, eat lunch or go for a refreshing swim along the way. All in all a fun, challenging and exhilarating way to spend your Sunday!

So next time Sunday rolls around, what are you gonna do? Hit the alarm and roll over, or get your backside out of bed and join a hike? If you decide on the former, enjoy your lazy Sunday. But if you are ready for a change, want to take action and get out and meet new people, then click the link below and join our next hike! You won’t regret it, and your alarm will thank you.

> >Sign up for the next hike on Meetup:

Follow Sherry Bagnato:

Cameron is a freelance writer, short story author and novice hiker living in Bloordale, Toronto

Contact Cameron:

Floetry Corner – “Broken Dreams”

Floetry Corner - "Broken Dreams"
by emcee Problem-Addict
*Note: I get inspired to write verses after whilst smoking weed and listening to hip hop instrumentals I randomly search on Youtube. I felt this beat was special, stirring deep emotions, simultaneously conjuring both depressing motivating feelings... I posted the link to the instrumental so you can try to rap along! 🙂

Old School Hip-Hop // Rap Instrumental | Rotten Mind | Decibel Lirical

"This beat...bring out my inner sadness, fuck 'rose-colored' all I got's tinted glasses / Like a hand I can't stand this, I feel bad, fuck sad, this is madness / Ill and manic, pop pills, still an addict, shit is tragic, got skills, but still imagine / that I'm livin' in a palace, filled with lavish things, and if I wanna leave could just spin an atlas / But I feel the axis...still the fact is, payin' bills, still sleep on a shitty mattress / Thinking bout life, just tryna stay afloat... but I keep sinking back into blackness ('ahhhhhhh') / I suppose hanging myself is the fastest - way to stop these feelings, havin' flashbacks like a hit of acid / In a panic - almost go insane, overload my brain - until it crashes (boom!) / Suddenly I feel the I lit some matches, throwin' on sticks, twigs and branches, until it catches / Let me out of this cage, so I can let loose and spit rage, till all that's left of this stage is a pit of ashes / Doesn't matter if you got a God-given talent, gotta balance that shit with a vision, stick with it if / it's a passion, gotta make it a mission to start buildin' habits, that'll get you to the next level / of this challenge, with practice yo skill advances, begin to master and move on to bigger pastures / Like lennon just imagine where you'll be in ten years...picture chillin' in yo mansion / But like a car gotta start now - cause time's tickin fast, and in a flash yo dreams begin to shatter and die like they were given cancer... ('and all the shit I thought did didn't matter')" -freestyle by problemaddict

Poetry Corner – Trapped


I feel trapped...

A flickering moth, abducted by the light
in an eternal state of phototaxis

A struggling rat, caught in a mousetrap
gradually accepting the thought of death

A cocky roach, appendages paralyzed by amber molasses
feelers erratically flailing in distress

A tiny ant, drowning in a pool of honey
gulping every last, sweet breath of air

A jittery fly, tangled in spider's web
unwittingly preparing itself to be its next meal

A busy bee, suddenly engulfed in green teeth
while greedily drinking at its deceitfully sweet nectar

A naive rabbit, snagged by metal cuffs
wildly spasming with each attempted escape

A fluttering butterfly, snatched in soft mesh
impulsively flapping its wings to take flight

A dangling fish, held proudly from angler's hook
desperately gasping for atoms of air

A restless dog, tightening its leash with each futile tug
foolishly strangling itself to get ahead

A tamed tiger, restlessly stalking its cage
endlessly pacing, awaiting the day its at last released

An imprisoned primate, thrashing about in its manufactured enclosure
painfully aware of its dire and futile predicament thinking

Let me out

I want to live

Poetry Corner – Stuck


I am stuck

An invisible force holding me down

Gravity binding me to the ground

I try to get up,

but I feel three times my weight

I want to get up,

but this constraint is overpowering

I go to get up,

but I am unable to move

Caught in a Venus flytrap

Feeling inevitable death

but doing nothing about it

No one can help me

I am stuck

Poetry Corner – Supersymmetry


I am me, but there is another me

Completely opposite

Moving in the right direction

Unknowingly spinning me backwards

in the opposite direction

A contradictory pair

Dancing through time

Both partners unaware of the other

Invisibly influencing the other

I wish I could detach

and just float away

So I could map out my own path

Unaffected by myself

Poetry Corner – Sun


Sun filters in
Forming a rectangular shape
Penetrating my safe enclosure
Reminding me
The outside world still exists
If only I could harness it
to power my body
To get out of bed
Now that’s solar power!

Poetry Corner – End of Covid

End of Covid

(or Spring is Here!)

People out

Children playing

Mothers shouting

Dads catching

Babies crying

Friends laughing

Joggers running

Athletes training

Couples smiling

Guys joking

Kids frolicking

Teens flirting

Birds chirping

Cars driving

Ambulance wailing

Babies screaming

Dogs barking

Planes gliding

Gangs hanging

Crowds gathering

Bands playing

Music blasting

Cyclists cruising

Bells clanging

Men working

Seniors sitting

Boys chasing

Girls giggling

Balls dribbling

Clouds parting

Sun shining

Ice melting

Mood shifting

Depression lifting