(Micro-fiction written for a contest on figment.com)*
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"No. I said like an egg. Shaped. Egg-shaped. Ovoid."
He looked at me blankly.
"Oval, like an oval."
"Oh. Well." There was a long pause. "Did you try to move it?"
I stared. "Move it where?"
He glanced unseeing over his shoulder, then, hesitating, opened his mouth.
"And if you say the bathtub, I will kill you," I said. "We take showers in there."
"Well it can't stay outside. People around here, they'll talk, us with a monster egg on our lawn –"
"Not an egg."
"– a slimy, pulsating egg. They'll talk. George cornered me at the bookstore the other day, went on for twenty minutes about our sprinklers soggying up his newspaper every morning."
"Sprinklers are hardly –"
"Twenty. Minutes."
"Fine," I said. "Alright. But I don't want it in the house."
"I mean," he looked over his shoulder again, "do you have a better idea?"
