There sat the eggs. Broken, cracked, shattered, splattered on the wood floor. She didn’t apologize. She slapped them out of my hand, and she didn’t care. She turned to me, a smirk on her face, and, as she flipped her wavy blonde hair, she left the room.
Kaylee
fleeting feathers blown from the coop
that pass between the glassy sky
and penitent gazes –
the metallic half-lights
incumbent nuclei O’s
studding the kilnroost like
a row of unstrung marbles
hannah wells
eggs. blood. shells. adaptation. evolution. our coping mechanisms. multiplying like birth or the constant pumping of machines pushing out incessant conveniences. a utopian world where we are filled with steroids and artificial nutrients for optimal results and our minds have turned to robots that allow us to fit uniform into the provided carton. nothing is natural anymore. row upon perfect row, the years and centuries pass by until the earth gets too cold or hot and we die. to be reborn and make the same mistakes again. millenium after millenium.
“okay…we need flour, baking soda, chocolate chips, eggs…” Maria listed off the ingredients in a monotone. When my real mother coaxed me into baking with her, she made it fun. Maria, my fake mother, made it the most boring thing in the universe.
“Ahem.” I cleared my throat, interrupting Maria’s neverending list. “We don’t have eggs, so I’ll just go to the store and get some…how many do you need?”
“You don’t have eggs??” Maria exclaimed. “What kind of place is this? Back in Kansas we just went to the chicken coop and–”
“We don’t have a chicken coop.” I said in annoyance. “So, how many do we need?”
“How many eggs? About a dozen.”
“A DOZEN eggs? How many batches are we making?” I asked incredously.
“Well, I always make a few extra,” Maria answered, oblivious to my frustration. “You know, just in case a hungry farmer is coming down the road, wanting a snack…”
“Look,” I said angrily. “You aren’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. Over here we don’t ride horses everyday, we don’t grow corn in the backyard, we don’t raise pigs, we don’t have chicken coops, and farmers most certainly do NOT come la-de-da-ing down the road looking for–”
RING RING RING the doorbell screamed, cutting short my little rant.
“I get it!” Maria said cheefully, bouncing towards the front door as if I hadn’t just been yelling at her. I groaned and listened as Maria struggled with the front door.
“Hello Mrs…” I heard the sleazy mailman say politely.
“Maria! It’s Maria.” Maria said. I could almost see the stupid smile she had on her face.
“I believe you have a package from–”
“Are you hungry? You can come in if you want. Would you like some–”
“EXCUSE ME!” I yelled, rushing to the front door. “Thank you for the package,” I breathlessly grabbed the box from the mailman, who was looking especially dangerous today. “You can leave now.” I attempted to shut the door.
“Oh, no.” The sleazy mailman said, smiling a completely fake smile. “I’m not going anywhere.” Maria smiled back at him, as clueless and innocent as a child.
Melanie
Do I really love you? Are you a fake? Should I trust you? How much can I take? For I haven’t known you that long, and do not now you very well. Are you someone who can love, and can cause my heart to swell, larger than the sun, and higher than the clouds, make it beat like a drum and make me love out loud. Am I oblivious to the obvious, am I dwelling on something small? Am I hoping for something, that doesn’t even exist at all? Are you as innocent as it seems, will you love me by all means? My heart is heating up, as if it were an oven. All I need you to know is that I love you a dozen.
She got bored and decided to do something she rarely did, she decided to cook for him. She didn’t know what he liked, and she was pretty sure he didn’t like sweets, but he would take them, because they came from her.
She spent her whole day in the kitchen, and emerged with a dozen cupcakes that were frosted with a pink paste and some even said, “Love.”
Many many all around. Keeping quiet, make a sound! Loud is the echo does go and so it rolls on and on! Forever there forever low. Pickled turnips shall behold the glorious taste of eggs so sweet. Make them sweet, make them meet.
there were a dozen eggs sitting on the table…when they fell off it was a mess…who had to clean up that dozen eggs mess…me of course…who else!!!
Joanne
I remember this one time I got a dozen eggs and I dropped them and my dad was pissed. There was also that movie Cheaper by the Dozen which was okay and since their last name was Baker I thought they could make a movie where they had another child and it would have been called The Baker’s Dozen since like that’s thirteen instead of twelve.
The dozen men surrounded us. There sword points just inches from our face. I didn’t see how we’d get out of this one.
I reached and grabbed Jason’s hand, his fingers giving a reassuring squeeze. Or maybe just a spasm of fear.
Twelve is such a large number. I wonder why people decided to come up with a word of measurement that does not describe groups of 5 or 10. Why twelve? I ask myself. Why do eggs come by the dozen?
eggs, bread, crayons, dozens and dozens, numbers, lots, a bakers dozen, dozin, sleeping, bull dozer, bull dozen, red bull, wings, flight, animate, Deutschland, German, kilt, beer
Matthew
there are a dozen eggs in the carton which makes for four 3 egg omelettes. You may not have a two egg omelette. you may not substitute bagel for toast. you may not have anything but a 3 egg omelette on toast. A dozen eggs makes for four omelettes; therefore, four of you may have breakfast, no more and no less.
MG
Baker’s dozen comes to mind. A baker’s dozen is the number 13, and there was once an author I knew of named Baker. In his books, there was often the number 13, with a missing piece. Twelve remaining families, one had died off. A thirteenth planet lost behind the sun so that only twelve were visible. You get the idea. He’d written himself deeply into his work, his name itself, monolithic and thematic. It might just be my goal to imprint myself upon a world just the same way. Lord, let it be this world.
I felt the thorns of a dozen red roses prick against my bare hands. A drop of blood trickled down my sleeve, but it was okay. These roses were for you, my love, and for you, I’d bleed myself dry.
Then the iron was dragged out of the red coals, a small shower of red sparks flitting back into the bed of coals. Jensen could think of a dozen reasons why he should be somewhere else, but for some reason none of them stood up to the reality that he found himself in at the moment.
One dozen. Eggs come to mind at first. One dozen of them sitting there white and uncracked. Untouched. They are perfect and pristine. I’m jealous of those eggs sometimes.
Dozen of potatoes on the road just felt from the tree nearby. A little girl go around and picks them up for her grandma, she wanted her to go shopping and take anything she’d like to.
A dozen doves are flying through the air, just waiting for someone to catch one, shoot one, slit one’s throat.
And then a bullet. A bullet through the flock of doves that scatters them, sends them tumbling through a clear blue sky in such a way that works every time and allows no bullet to catch one. This is why they waited; these doves found joy in besting their enemies.
the number of times I’m going to tell you “I don’t know what to say”
but really, its the number of times I would tell you that I love you in each second of each and every day.
Rachael Parkes
on a scale of 1 to 12 this is the amount that i love my girlfriend rachael
on a scale of 1 to 12 this is the amount i never want to leave her
on a scale of 1 to 12 this is the amount of happy i currently am
on a scale of 1 to 12 this is how beautiful you are
i love you.
connor hattersley
There they go; another dozen escaped from her grasp like sand through her fingers. She sighs, feeling hopeless. When will she ever capture one butterfly? Suddenly, a box is dropped in front of her, startling her from cleaning her lenses. Curious, she lifts the lid of the box. Her mouth falls open as a beautiful butterfly flutters out. She looks over into the shadows of the forest around her; who left this wonderful present?
It’s like I have said it a dozen times, and still he doesn’t listen to me. He won’t listen any more. I hate that I made him reach that point. I hate that I’ve ruined it all. I did lose everything special we had between us.
Whiskers. On your chin, on the days you forget to shave, and they tickle me when you kiss me. Your kisses always tickle; but that’s probably just because even after all this time I get butterflies whenever I see you first – in the morning when I wake up beside you or in your arms, or when you hug me when we say ‘hello’ after time spent apart. Even after all this time; tickles.
A dozen ideas stacked on top of one another.
where do they end?
from fashion to theoretical mathematics,
his mind never stops going. Now if only he would put it all together
and say “hi” to the world outside.
Fantastic Frying Frollicks! The baker carefully placed each fattening holey goodness in the fryer right before my very eyes. I’ll never forget the way they sizzled from the moment that the grease touched their outside.
dozen means like… um… 24?
OMG . A DOZEN OF DONUTS ! :D
24 donuts. ! yum.
times almost up…
i like cheese.
Alexis
Bagels. Where to buy bagels in this tiny town in the Alps? Sure there was gorgeous bread to be had, not to mention cheese that could bring tears to your eyes… but my kingdom for a dozen of Montreal’s finest!
Tess
A dozen bluebirds flew past the barn window. My eyes raced to follow them to the nearest tree, where the twelve little friends commenced in landing in perfect unison, each finding the just right amount of space for them to land.
Dan
A dozen ducks were flying in the sky when I heard the news about the passing of my best friend. I will never forget that day. The sky has never been grayer and the rain never felt colder. As if everything died with him.
Cristian
I’d give you a dozen red roses, but you’d just let them die. After my heart, there needs not to be another casualty.
twelve. I wish I had a baker’s dozen donuts! That means you get one extra. I want to be a size twelve basketball shoe. Then I might have a shot at being in the NBA. What a great time to be twelve years old!
ljones
“I still miss her all the time”, I heard my husband hush on the phone. It’s bee a dozen years last night. Two more years to a decade, barely anything in such a fast-paced world. He remembers the smell of your skin, the taste of your chapstick, and the exact shade of your piercing iris’. I know this for a fact because whenever you looks at me, I know he sees you.
My fingers felt the smooth-bumpy surface of the dozen eggs in my broken woven basket. It was all I could afford that day, as Mother’s sewing did not bring in much income this past week. I plodded along the side of the snow-dusted dirt road carefully, shivering as the snow continued to fall from the ominous grey clouds, being cautious not to deprive my mother and I of any less food than we already had.
A dozen red roses for my love. A dozen black roses for my loves death. I dream and yearn for those nights. Time passes too fast, you see, and the rose petals die as do the memories. I cannot even begin to explain how much roses mean to me, or to be more specific, the tale the roses represent – they are the razors and stitches of my restless predicament.
Rand
Am I a dime a dozen? Are my thoughts honestly all they’re cracked up to me? Does it really matter if I’m remembered or not, or am I just a mold, a dime a dozen, and if I fail to live the life I should, someone else will fill my space for me.Sometimes I wonder.
There sat the eggs. Broken, cracked, shattered, splattered on the wood floor. She didn’t apologize. She slapped them out of my hand, and she didn’t care. She turned to me, a smirk on her face, and, as she flipped her wavy blonde hair, she left the room.
fleeting feathers blown from the coop
that pass between the glassy sky
and penitent gazes –
the metallic half-lights
incumbent nuclei O’s
studding the kilnroost like
a row of unstrung marbles
eggs. blood. shells. adaptation. evolution. our coping mechanisms. multiplying like birth or the constant pumping of machines pushing out incessant conveniences. a utopian world where we are filled with steroids and artificial nutrients for optimal results and our minds have turned to robots that allow us to fit uniform into the provided carton. nothing is natural anymore. row upon perfect row, the years and centuries pass by until the earth gets too cold or hot and we die. to be reborn and make the same mistakes again. millenium after millenium.
“okay…we need flour, baking soda, chocolate chips, eggs…” Maria listed off the ingredients in a monotone. When my real mother coaxed me into baking with her, she made it fun. Maria, my fake mother, made it the most boring thing in the universe.
“Ahem.” I cleared my throat, interrupting Maria’s neverending list. “We don’t have eggs, so I’ll just go to the store and get some…how many do you need?”
“You don’t have eggs??” Maria exclaimed. “What kind of place is this? Back in Kansas we just went to the chicken coop and–”
“We don’t have a chicken coop.” I said in annoyance. “So, how many do we need?”
“How many eggs? About a dozen.”
“A DOZEN eggs? How many batches are we making?” I asked incredously.
“Well, I always make a few extra,” Maria answered, oblivious to my frustration. “You know, just in case a hungry farmer is coming down the road, wanting a snack…”
“Look,” I said angrily. “You aren’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. Over here we don’t ride horses everyday, we don’t grow corn in the backyard, we don’t raise pigs, we don’t have chicken coops, and farmers most certainly do NOT come la-de-da-ing down the road looking for–”
RING RING RING the doorbell screamed, cutting short my little rant.
“I get it!” Maria said cheefully, bouncing towards the front door as if I hadn’t just been yelling at her. I groaned and listened as Maria struggled with the front door.
“Hello Mrs…” I heard the sleazy mailman say politely.
“Maria! It’s Maria.” Maria said. I could almost see the stupid smile she had on her face.
“I believe you have a package from–”
“Are you hungry? You can come in if you want. Would you like some–”
“EXCUSE ME!” I yelled, rushing to the front door. “Thank you for the package,” I breathlessly grabbed the box from the mailman, who was looking especially dangerous today. “You can leave now.” I attempted to shut the door.
“Oh, no.” The sleazy mailman said, smiling a completely fake smile. “I’m not going anywhere.” Maria smiled back at him, as clueless and innocent as a child.
Do I really love you? Are you a fake? Should I trust you? How much can I take? For I haven’t known you that long, and do not now you very well. Are you someone who can love, and can cause my heart to swell, larger than the sun, and higher than the clouds, make it beat like a drum and make me love out loud. Am I oblivious to the obvious, am I dwelling on something small? Am I hoping for something, that doesn’t even exist at all? Are you as innocent as it seems, will you love me by all means? My heart is heating up, as if it were an oven. All I need you to know is that I love you a dozen.
Donuts
Eggs
baker
Twelve
Flour
cupcakes
Flowers
Roses
She got bored and decided to do something she rarely did, she decided to cook for him. She didn’t know what he liked, and she was pretty sure he didn’t like sweets, but he would take them, because they came from her.
She spent her whole day in the kitchen, and emerged with a dozen cupcakes that were frosted with a pink paste and some even said, “Love.”
Many many all around. Keeping quiet, make a sound! Loud is the echo does go and so it rolls on and on! Forever there forever low. Pickled turnips shall behold the glorious taste of eggs so sweet. Make them sweet, make them meet.
there were a dozen eggs sitting on the table…when they fell off it was a mess…who had to clean up that dozen eggs mess…me of course…who else!!!
I remember this one time I got a dozen eggs and I dropped them and my dad was pissed. There was also that movie Cheaper by the Dozen which was okay and since their last name was Baker I thought they could make a movie where they had another child and it would have been called The Baker’s Dozen since like that’s thirteen instead of twelve.
The dozen men surrounded us. There sword points just inches from our face. I didn’t see how we’d get out of this one.
I reached and grabbed Jason’s hand, his fingers giving a reassuring squeeze. Or maybe just a spasm of fear.
Twelve is such a large number. I wonder why people decided to come up with a word of measurement that does not describe groups of 5 or 10. Why twelve? I ask myself. Why do eggs come by the dozen?
eggs, bread, crayons, dozens and dozens, numbers, lots, a bakers dozen, dozin, sleeping, bull dozer, bull dozen, red bull, wings, flight, animate, Deutschland, German, kilt, beer
there are a dozen eggs in the carton which makes for four 3 egg omelettes. You may not have a two egg omelette. you may not substitute bagel for toast. you may not have anything but a 3 egg omelette on toast. A dozen eggs makes for four omelettes; therefore, four of you may have breakfast, no more and no less.
Baker’s dozen comes to mind. A baker’s dozen is the number 13, and there was once an author I knew of named Baker. In his books, there was often the number 13, with a missing piece. Twelve remaining families, one had died off. A thirteenth planet lost behind the sun so that only twelve were visible. You get the idea. He’d written himself deeply into his work, his name itself, monolithic and thematic. It might just be my goal to imprint myself upon a world just the same way. Lord, let it be this world.
I felt the thorns of a dozen red roses prick against my bare hands. A drop of blood trickled down my sleeve, but it was okay. These roses were for you, my love, and for you, I’d bleed myself dry.
Then the iron was dragged out of the red coals, a small shower of red sparks flitting back into the bed of coals. Jensen could think of a dozen reasons why he should be somewhere else, but for some reason none of them stood up to the reality that he found himself in at the moment.
Dozen of memories crossing the sea, red sun drowning in.
One dozen. Eggs come to mind at first. One dozen of them sitting there white and uncracked. Untouched. They are perfect and pristine. I’m jealous of those eggs sometimes.
Dozen of potatoes on the road just felt from the tree nearby. A little girl go around and picks them up for her grandma, she wanted her to go shopping and take anything she’d like to.
haal moegen
pialloj der
A dozen doves are flying through the air, just waiting for someone to catch one, shoot one, slit one’s throat.
And then a bullet. A bullet through the flock of doves that scatters them, sends them tumbling through a clear blue sky in such a way that works every time and allows no bullet to catch one. This is why they waited; these doves found joy in besting their enemies.
the number of times I’m going to tell you “I don’t know what to say”
but really, its the number of times I would tell you that I love you in each second of each and every day.
on a scale of 1 to 12 this is the amount that i love my girlfriend rachael
on a scale of 1 to 12 this is the amount i never want to leave her
on a scale of 1 to 12 this is the amount of happy i currently am
on a scale of 1 to 12 this is how beautiful you are
i love you.
There they go; another dozen escaped from her grasp like sand through her fingers. She sighs, feeling hopeless. When will she ever capture one butterfly? Suddenly, a box is dropped in front of her, startling her from cleaning her lenses. Curious, she lifts the lid of the box. Her mouth falls open as a beautiful butterfly flutters out. She looks over into the shadows of the forest around her; who left this wonderful present?
A dozen cookies for school tomorrow. No problem. A dozen for Sunday as well. No sweat. 10 dozen in a hour. Now we have a problem.
It’s like I have said it a dozen times, and still he doesn’t listen to me. He won’t listen any more. I hate that I made him reach that point. I hate that I’ve ruined it all. I did lose everything special we had between us.
Whiskers. On your chin, on the days you forget to shave, and they tickle me when you kiss me. Your kisses always tickle; but that’s probably just because even after all this time I get butterflies whenever I see you first – in the morning when I wake up beside you or in your arms, or when you hug me when we say ‘hello’ after time spent apart. Even after all this time; tickles.
A dozen ideas stacked on top of one another.
where do they end?
from fashion to theoretical mathematics,
his mind never stops going. Now if only he would put it all together
and say “hi” to the world outside.
Fantastic Frying Frollicks! The baker carefully placed each fattening holey goodness in the fryer right before my very eyes. I’ll never forget the way they sizzled from the moment that the grease touched their outside.
dozen means like… um… 24?
OMG . A DOZEN OF DONUTS ! :D
24 donuts. ! yum.
times almost up…
i like cheese.
Bagels. Where to buy bagels in this tiny town in the Alps? Sure there was gorgeous bread to be had, not to mention cheese that could bring tears to your eyes… but my kingdom for a dozen of Montreal’s finest!
A dozen bluebirds flew past the barn window. My eyes raced to follow them to the nearest tree, where the twelve little friends commenced in landing in perfect unison, each finding the just right amount of space for them to land.
A dozen ducks were flying in the sky when I heard the news about the passing of my best friend. I will never forget that day. The sky has never been grayer and the rain never felt colder. As if everything died with him.
I’d give you a dozen red roses, but you’d just let them die. After my heart, there needs not to be another casualty.
twelve. I wish I had a baker’s dozen donuts! That means you get one extra. I want to be a size twelve basketball shoe. Then I might have a shot at being in the NBA. What a great time to be twelve years old!
“I still miss her all the time”, I heard my husband hush on the phone. It’s bee a dozen years last night. Two more years to a decade, barely anything in such a fast-paced world. He remembers the smell of your skin, the taste of your chapstick, and the exact shade of your piercing iris’. I know this for a fact because whenever you looks at me, I know he sees you.
My fingers felt the smooth-bumpy surface of the dozen eggs in my broken woven basket. It was all I could afford that day, as Mother’s sewing did not bring in much income this past week. I plodded along the side of the snow-dusted dirt road carefully, shivering as the snow continued to fall from the ominous grey clouds, being cautious not to deprive my mother and I of any less food than we already had.
A dozen red roses for my love. A dozen black roses for my loves death. I dream and yearn for those nights. Time passes too fast, you see, and the rose petals die as do the memories. I cannot even begin to explain how much roses mean to me, or to be more specific, the tale the roses represent – they are the razors and stitches of my restless predicament.
Am I a dime a dozen? Are my thoughts honestly all they’re cracked up to me? Does it really matter if I’m remembered or not, or am I just a mold, a dime a dozen, and if I fail to live the life I should, someone else will fill my space for me.Sometimes I wonder.