I'm A Bird Myself

The magpie gazes out through glass eyes.

The eggs in Terence's hands gaze inwards.

A poignant moment.

That could be our mother, say the eggs.

How come you always say the same thing? asks Terence.

Because we are eggs, say the eggs.

An insensitive and irrelevant question, says Roo-kai. The eggs may just have come face to face with their stuffed mother.

Woo, says Terence. That would be creepy

At least YOU are sympathetic, say the eggs to Roo-kai.

Thanks, says Roo-kai. I'm a bird myself, that's why I'm sympathetic.

Hang on, says Terence. These eggs are empty.

How do you know? asks Roo-kai.

Didn't you feel them when you picked them up? asks Terence.

Come to think of it, yes, says Roo-kai. They were light as two feathers.

So that magpie isn't their mother, says Terence.

Hey, stop right there, say the eggs. We don't follow.

She may be the mother of your former contents, says Roo-kai. 

Are we in trouble? ask the eggs.

Of course not, says Roo-kai. You have done nothing wrong. And she may be your owner.

The magpie gazes dolefully down at the eggs. Is she the owner?

And therefore, the mother of their missing contents?

The eggs look at one another. Is this what it means to be sollers?

What's up? asks Roo-kai.

What is the meaning of sollers? ask the eggs.

Shoes, says Terence.

No! says Roo-kai. Not shoes. I think you have mispronounced the word solace, although only slightly.

So what is it? ask the eggs.

I was thinking earlier, says Roo-kai, that life goes on in spite of everything, Which gave me comfort, or solace.

So it MIGHT be shoes, says Terence.

Life goes on? ask the eggs. Our mother is stuffed and we're empty. How does that work?

They would see it like that.

Roo-kai tries to think of a comforting answer,