My mind doesn’t even register what’s happened before I’ve already snatched the kid out of the hot liquid. The scalding pan falls off the stove and dumps steaming butter all over me. Luckily I’m not burned thanks to my jeans, but the pan still lands on my shoes. I bite back a shout of pain as I drop the shockingly light child into the empty sink.
I quickly turn on the cold water, unsure of what to do. Cold makes hot better right? I can’t fucking remember. Either way, the kid starts making a displeased face as the freezing cold liquid hits his bare ass.
“MAnnahaaaa!” The kid blubbers in protest.
“Whatever kid, you’ve got a burned ass— butt. You’re getting wet.” I say flatly.
As the kid soaks I turn back to the counter, picking up the eggshell. The inside is totally clean, like nothing had ever been inside it. It’s also the slightest bit blue, just enough to be visible, but only if you’re looking at it closely. Did the kid really come out of this? Was he teleported? I don’t think that kind of tech exists, but according to the news, magic is real so who fucking knows.
My attention is pulled back to the sink by a metallic clank. I turn to find the kid holding a spatula. I quickly glance behind me, and see my only spatula still on the floor. Where did it…
It makes another clang as it slams its new weapon into the side of the sink. I rush over and snatch the thing out of its grasp, making the little thing look up at me. It frowns, its small black brows crinkling in anger.
It points a stubby finger at me. “Waooo thhhupp ouuuu!” It babbles angrily. I hold back my quiet laughter as I pick it up out of the sink. It whales against my shoulder ineffectively with its tiny fists as I carry it into my cramped living room. I plonk it down onto my squashed couch, and flip it over. I quickly scan its butt to check the severity of its… burns?
There’s… no burns? It was sitting in boiling butter, in a frying pan! How are there no burns? …How does a kid come out of a chicken egg? Whatever. I flip it, well he if you’re going off its bits, back around. It looks up at me again, pouting.
“What? I needed to make sure you’re okay.” I explain to the irritated child. I can’t have people claiming I abused the thi— him, when I give him to whoever. Speaking of which.
I walk over and sit in front of my computer. The thing quickly blinks into life, my backgrou— ack! I quickly open up a browser, covering up my wallpaper. I turn around, and sure enough the kid is riveted to the screen. So much for keeping his mind pure then.
I quickly open my settings and change the wallpaper to something… more age appropriate. Then I quickly search the reason I turned this damned thing on.
‘Egg Children’ only brings up weird things, so I start using other searches. Eventually I find my way to a government website, one titled ‘friendly supernatural entity department.’ I click through it, looking for some way to contact them, but only find an online chat. Deciding it's better than nothing I open it up.
A small window opens up, displaying the smiling face of a woman apparently named ‘Lois’. After a few seconds, I receive a message.
“Is the entity dangerous?” The message asks. I pause, unsure what to reply. Like, I’ve had the kid for an hour… I guess it’s immune to fire, is that dangerous? …Not really. I type in a No and wait.
Another message quickly pops up, another blunt question. “Do they need to be in government custody?”
Without even considering it, I reply in the affirmative. I am not taking care of a kid, I’m not dad material.
A third, and apparently final, message pops up. “Please leave your contact info, you will be placed on our waitlist. The estimated wait time is eight months. Thank you for your patience.” Without even waiting for my info, the chat closes with a ‘the other user has logged off.’ Shocked, I just stare at my screen for a minute. Eight months?! Are they joking? Whatever. I punch in my info and shut off my computer.
I turn just in time to dodge a spatula headed for my… well my head. I jump out of the way just before it hits, instead it just crashes into my monitor, destroying it. My gaze snaps at the kid, and then to the two spatulas in the kitchen. One on the ground and one on the counter. Where the fuck is he getting them?!
I rush over to the naked child and crouch down. “Hey, you can’t throw things like that. I could’ve been hurt.” The kid just glares at me. Does he even understand my scolding? Probably not.
I grab him, much to his displeasure, and carry him into my bedroom. I pull a shirt out of my dresser and push it down over his head. It’s way too large, the kids nearly swimming in it… His arms also barely make it to the end of the sleeves. …Maybe I shouldn't have given him a shirt that says ‘ladies man’... Why do I even still have that?
Whatever, the drunk college kid shirt stays on the baby. His glare is telling me I’m not getting another shirt on him if I take it off now. I let out a sigh. This means I’ll have to buy kid clothes. Like I don’t have enough expenses…
I go to pick the kid up off the bed, but he just jumps down on his own. I freeze in horror for a second, but he makes the landing easily. …Actually he’s a bit older than I thought. When do kids start walking? Damn why did my parents have a loveless marriage? Maybe I’d have gotten a sibling and know more about this…
My mind wanders back to reality, which is a child glaring up at me wearing a somewhat sexist shirt. “Do you want better clothes?” I ask the kid.
He tilts his head at me, clearly not understanding.
I try again, but one bit at a time. I point at my shirt. “Clothes.” I say slowly.
“Cwothes.” He mimics.
“Yes, clothes.” I reach down and pinch the shirt covering him up. He looks down at what I’m doing. “Too big.” I say.
“Too big.” He got that one.
I return to pointing at my clothes. “Fits.” I say.
He nods at me, looking sure of himself. I have no idea how much he got, but I push onwards.
This time I point at his head. “You…” And then I point at myself. “Me.”
He nods happily and points at his chest. “You!” He says proudly.
I sigh, this is going to take forever.
