Breakfast's Answer

Mmm... the cool morning breeze, the warm sunlight, and breakfast.

February 1. Hash brown? Alright. Sunny side-up? Fine.
So I took my fork and sliced the egg with it. I dragged the sliced egg white to a slice of the potato, scooped them, opened up and chewed. Nothing special. Breakfast.

I always avoided breakfast. I would either force myself to wake up by lunchtime or go to school without eating at all. "Forget about cold, dry sunny side-ups and oily ham," I would tell myself. "You have better breakfast in your dreams."

Breakfast. I continued with the pattern: slicing, scooping, opening, chewing and swallowing. What got me through it was the imaginations I had. Since not much of my brain was needed to eat that abomination, I was able to create stories in my head--as I always do.

I imagined I was someone else--a lady in the Victorian era, with a British accent. I was amused for a few minutes and then a new idea came. It wasn't about an impossible dream, it was doable. It was about the egg and the potato. "Put the egg yolk on top of the hash brown," I thought. My face turned a raisin--wrinkly and weird--with a huge smile.

I acted on it. I lifted the combination to my mouth and bit. The warm wet yolk oozed as if golden sand pouring. I sipped the oozing yolk, and bit once more.

The light bulb inside my head flashed. "Your tongue is right," the bulb said. "The yolk with the potato--it-it's different."
I imagined my mouth lighting up, forming the sunrise I used to draw as a kid--the sun rising between two mountains. Suddenly, I knew my day was going to be, as my breakfast was, different.