Wallace Minor and the Meaning of Life

As 11 year old Wallace Minor lays in the hospital, dying, he searches for the meaning of life through a series of dreams

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2. For the First Time

A white orb sits next to me, standing just higher than the top of my head, speckled with a dirty teal color. I press my hand against it, softly. I close my eyes and try to absorb the seemingly eternal warmth inside.

An egg. It's an egg. And it is gigantic. I'm not sure if I have shrunk, or if everything else grew, but everything seems to be bigger. The twigs that encircle the eggs, the nest, are tree trunks.

A songbird stands on the edge of the nest. Yellow strips zip through the dark brown plumage on the bird. A feather stands straight on top of its head that quivers in the wind.

I am disrupted from my wondrous daze as I hear a faint, very faint knock from the inside of the egg. I put my hand back on the egg, and feel the knocks, pulsating, almost rhythmically to my heartbeat. And then a crack. A crack rips through the side of the egg, and I back my hand away, startled, yet expectant. And suddenly, a bit of the shell falls away, at my feet. I pick it up, its inside is slimy, coated in some kind of membrane. I drop it, and watch it land softly, before wiping my hands on my jeans.

I look back up, and see that the whole egg has cracks running through it in every direction. A bigger chunk has opened up in its middle, and I see something moving within it. I see wet matted feathers inside, and a folded wing.

Soon, a baby creature is revealed. It fidgets around, trying to free its lower half from its prison. It makes a pitiful squealing sound. If faces it's unopened eyes towards the sun, and quivers, not sure what to make of the new world in which it has just been born. I see that that bird will have something to do in its life, it has been born for a reason.

And I am back in the hospital room. I hear my heart monitor, once again, and notice it sounds slower, once again.

I rub the drowsiness out of my eyes, and think about my dream. The songbird. The giant egg. The baby bird. And I realize, everything, everyone is born with a purpose. But, what is my purpose. Or, was.

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