Mexican Frying an Egg

Mexican-fried eggs are eggs getting blown up.

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AN: This is a short story I was challenged to write by my friend Matt, whom I asked to draw a picture from which I could perhaps extract a story. The following is what I took from that. I'm splitting this into smaller parts to a) make it easier to edit and b) because it isn't actually finished yet. Comments are highly anticipated, suggestions considered and likes and favourites much enjoyed. Drop me any one of these - I'm happy to take questions.

   For now, I leave you with the prologue to 'Mexican Frying an Egg', a weird little story inspired by a weird little picture...

 

Children screamed and cried, tears running over rosy red cheeks of chub while panicking parents pulled them away from the roads where vehicles rumbled by, tires biting into tarmac. Heavy machinery moved everywhere: cars carrying nervous civilians tried to escape while yet others brought in more people. And, above it all, ringing across the space, the sounds of gunshots echoed. The scene was one of absolute chaos.

                The scene was, of course, that of the supermarket car park. And it was a Saturday.

                A vexed van driver wrenched the key to one side once more, eliciting a worried, choking sound from the vehicle. Frowning, he tried it again. A deafening bang quietly suggested that the engine had backfired. The driver’s reaction to this rendered his purchase of laxatives obsolete and necessitated a sudden change of undergarments.

                Perhaps, thought the driver, I shall get in the back and make use of a particular purchase.

                The door opened, and out got the man, his waddling motion akin to the movements of a person recently soaked. Alternatively, he could have been doing a penguin impression.

                “I feel like a bloody penguin,” muttered the driver, standing before the tall, dusty van doors. The whole vehicle was covered in a thin layer of fine dirt. It needed a thorough washing, an observation written into the dust in words: ‘Wash me’, with a smiley face to follow. Well, thought the driver, they can feel free. Wait... What was that sliding down my leg? Good God, can this day get any worse...?

                Unpleasant thoughts occupying his head space, he yanked on the door handles.

                His last thought before blacking out was that this day had, in fact, gotten a whole lot worse.

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